


First Cycle

by Faoi_chielt



Series: The Rule of Threes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Plot Fic, Slow Burn, h/c, mentions of canon dubcon, will be Jossed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faoi_chielt/pseuds/Faoi_chielt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't defeat the present without understanding how it came to be.</p><p>Chapter Ten Preview:</p><p>“I don’t know,” Derek said, eyes finally meeting Stiles again. His tone was plaintive and more than a little confused. “I told you that I trusted you a while ago.”</p><p>“And that scares you,” Stiles said quietly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Derek rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly.</p><p>“It scares me too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Talk About Anything (Except You and Me)

**Author's Note:**

> "I am a master hunter I cured my skin, now nothin gets in  
> nothing is as hard as it tries  
> you want a woman because you want to be saved"
> 
> \- Master Hunter (Laura Marling)

“Oh my God, it took him. No, no no no--” Stiles reached out with a shaking hand to steady himself on a desktop. “It took my dad!”

“She,” whispered Lydia, hoarsely. Scott paused in the middle of his hurried but careful attempts to cut through her bonds with his claws. “Not an it... She. Blake.”

“Our English teacher?” Scott asked, disbelievingly.

“Oh, of course! A teacher! Is there a single teacher in this school that _isn't_ involved in the supernatural shenanigans of Beacon fucking Hills?!” Stiles sneered unconvincingly, knees buckling slightly. “Coach is probably Merlin's fifteenth-great-nephew.”

“Stiles. Wasn't Ms. Blake at--”

“Derek's loft,” finished Stiles, numbly. He looked up at Scott pleadingly. “Which means he knows her and might be able to find her-- Scott! He's at the hospital with his sister, you'll be faster right now. The roads are probably a mess and you can do that ninja parkour roof-running thing that Derek likes so much—”

“Stiles!” Lydia and Scott shouted.

“Please, you have to... she took my _dad_ , Scott,” Stiles begged, face wrecked. Scott felt something alarmingly like a hook tugging through his abdomen. It wasn't right; that expression on Stiles's face wasn't okay. Not at all.

Not from a guy who was more than willing to go up in very real flames to save Scott, of all people.

“Yeah, okay. I'm going,” Scott swiped his claws through the rest of the half-sawn ropes securing Lydia to the chair. He moved around to face her, crouching and putting a hand lightly on her knee. “Lydia, you stick with Stiles. Find Allison and her dad, they need to know what's going on.”

She nodded, hair sticking to the tracks of her tears. 

“Just get Derek and hunt down that bitch,” she bit out, shaky and uneven, but fiery all the same.

“Ditto,” snarled Stiles, having stood up fully once more, rigid with furious tension. “I'll take care of Lydia. Go!”

Scott nodded, letting his own anger loose as he hurled himself through the broken window with a snarl. The Sheriff wasn't just his best friend's dad, he was a cornerstone of Scott's life and he _wouldn't_ let him be just another sacrifice. Leaping up, Scott took to the rooftops, the town a blur beneath him. Safely out of sight, he howled his distress and rage knowing with absolute certainty that Derek would hear.

Scott ran faster.

+++

Stiles knew he should go to Lydia, ask her if she was okay, give her a hug maybe-- but he was frozen. He stared through the broken window after Scott numbly. A million thoughts raced through his head, faster than he could label them, all clamoring for first place.

A warm heaviness landed on his shoulder and Stiles flinched, hard.

“Stiles,” Lydia croaked, trying to raise her voice above a battered whisper. He heard her take a breath and prepared himself to listen to empty placations. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

Just then a piercing howl ripped through the night. He felt it reverberate in his chest, tears welling up; he felt Scott's anguish and rage, echoed it a thousandfold. Stiles reached up and covered the hand on his shoulder with his own, squeezing tightly.

“Yeah, c'mon,” he cleared his throat, swallowing his fear. “Let's find your bestie and her scary Hunter daddy.”  


They broke apart, turning in unison to head for the hallway. Stiles wordlessly shed his plaid shirt and handed it to her, eyes front. She took it gratefully, flipping it seam-side out to wipe her face. There wasn't much she could do about her hair, but she clawed her fingers through it anyway, pushing it away from her face and into a semblance of something put together instead of 'hi, I was just abducted, _again_ '. 

“You were right, by the way,” she said lightly, handing the flannel back primly. “I am something.”

“Really?” Stiles replied, distractedly, walking with a purpose towards the exit. 

“Apparently, I'm a banshee.”

He stopped abruptly in his tracks and stared over at her.

“Jesus, this _town_ ,” Stiles said, tilting his head upward in disbelieving dramatics.

“Whatever, you're probably a leprechaun,” Lydia sniffed, striding past him with a sauntering sway. 

“Hey, I'm totally something cooler than a leprechaun!” Stiles hurried to catch up. “Besides, I'm Polish!”

+++

Allison watched the chaos, hand reaching automatically for her hidden blade. She felt her Dad's measuring presence next to her. It was comforting, a feeling she pushed aside for the moment. Her eyes were able to pick out Ethan jumping smoothly up onto the stage, his face taut. Danny.

She felt a slight pang before she pushed that aside too. Did the pianist count as a sacrifice? Or was all of this just a distraction. 

“We need to get outside,” she said, shortly. “We need a better perspective.”

“My thoughts exactly,” her Dad said with a hint of approval in his voice, his eyes still searching the scene even as he began to back away. “Judging by the reaction from the Alphas here, this wasn't something they were in on. As much as I hate to say it, we need to talk to Scott.”

“Did you hear--” Allison began.

“The gunshots? Yeah, but with the echo in here--” Isaac interrupted quietly. She'd almost forgotten he was there, he was so quiet. The thought disturbed her; subconsciously she no longer viewed him as a threat. Allison watched him tilt his head, looking for all the world like a pup cocking its head curiously, listening intently. 

She realized she was smiling, tiny but definite. Giving herself a mental shake, she looked at her dad with an arched brow.

“It's impossible to tell where it originated,” Chris finished Isaac's statement, seeing the frustration on the young Beta's face grow. “Let's move.”

They fought their way through the swarm of terrified people towards the exits, separated almost instantly by the chaos. It didn't matter, they would regroup outside by the car. Allison grit her teeth and kept pushing forward, leading with her elbows. She spotted a halo of wild curls and broad shoulders above the crowd and focused on them like a beacon.  
Finally she stumbled out of the crowd, her usual grace lost to the disorienting feel of having her own space again. 

She spotted her dad by their car, but Isaac was there at the bottom steps, waiting for her with an expectant look on his face. 

“My phone died a painful death back there. I dropped it trying to call Scott,” he shrugged his shoulders self-deprecatingly. “I don't suppose you cou--”

The night was shattered by a howl.

Isaac's eyes flashed gold and Allison could actually see the color drain from his already pale face.

“Scott,” he breathed the name out, the faint whisper of distressed whine chasing after it.

“Is he--” Allison stopped herself abruptly, realizing she'd stepped forward anxiously.

“He's not hurt... not exactly,” Isaac visibly struggled to explain. “He's-- hunting.”

They both turned to look as Chris pulled his car around to the steps and stopped with a faint squeal, throwing the passenger door open wide.

“The Durach. He wouldn't declare an intent to kill anyone else,” he said tightly. 

“Wow, faith in werewolf innocence from an Argent,” Isaac huffed. “Is this real life?”

He hadn't meant it to be a conversation starter, just a flippant aside, already moving to fold his lanky body into the car. But then Allison wheeled on him angrily, barring him from getting into the car with a hand splayed open over his chest, “My _dad_ is risking his neck for you and your _pack_.”

The tension from before returned abruptly. 

“No, your _dad_ is risking his neck for _you_. Forgive me if I have a few inconvenient issues with your family after what's happened in the past year. I was _hunted_ , Allison. I lost my only family and then had to hide like some kind of criminal. Then my new family was torn apart right in front of my eyes, so excuse me if I'm not exactly your dad's biggest fan!”

“It's not like you didn't make mistakes either!” Allison hissed back, furious. “Maybe if someone had bothered to _tell_ me things, important things, then I could've--”

“What? Believed a bunch of wolves that your Mom and your precious Aunt Kate were murdering psychopaths? You would have taken our word over blood?” Isaac's normally angelic features were twisted in disgust. “You were so deep in Gerard's back pocket... you never would've even heard the words much less listen to them.”

“I'm sorry!” Allison screamed, feeling the abrupt flip of a tiny switch deep inside. “I'm sorry I fucked up! I'm sorry my mom tried to kill Scott! I'm sorry I listened to my Grandfather! I'm _sorry_ my Aunt set the Hale Fire!”

She breathed raggedly, gulping for air. Isaac looked shocked, then sickened. Guilty.

“I'm trying to make things right. You can't ask me for anything else,” she said dully. Her shoulders were trembling.

“You're right,” he replied, head lowering until his gaze rested on his feet. “Nothing about this is fair. Sometimes life just sucks that way.”

He looked back up at her, a brittle smile stretched across his face. 

“I can see why Scott loves you, now.”

Allison's mouth parted in surprise.

“Ahem.”

They both turned to look at Chris sheepishly. Isaac looked absolutely mortified.

“If you two are finished...” Chris drawled expectantly, his arm sweeping in mock regality towards the open door of the car. 

“Wow, yeah, no kidding." 

Three heads snapped to stare at Stiles and Lydia approaching from the side exit of the school. They were clearly rattled, clothes askew and out of breath. Stiles was holding his plaid shirt limply in one hand, the rest trailing behind him onto the ground. 

"Nice bonding moment there, but we kind of have bigger things to worry about right now, guys. Like, oh, _my DAD being kidnapped_ by a psycho sorta-kinda-undead Dark Druid teacher lady... thing!”

“Jeez, Stiles, your heart sounds like it's gonna explode,” Isaac clenched his fists at his sides.

“Well, it's been kind of a rough night, Sparky,” Stiles snarked back meanly.

“Stiles, stop being a dick,” Lydia interceded smoothly, smacking him almost absently on the shoulder before stepping forward. “Here are the particulars: One, I was yet again abducted to be a tool in some sort of supernatural bruhaha; Two, the Durach took the Sheriff because he saved me; Three, that _bitch_ Blake is the Durach.”

Before anyone else could even think about reacting Isaac bent over abruptly with a gasp, hands clutching at his knees.

“Oh my God, not again,” he moaned, low and distressed.

“Isaac?” Allison moved to put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the tension vibrating in the lean muscle there. He radiated heat, like Scott, but less intensely. The incident in the janitor closet reared up in her mind and she lowered her free hand to rest on the hilt of her knife. “Are you-- is it flashbacks again?”

“No, no,” he said, “It's not me, it's Derek.”

“I had a bad feeling about her, but,” Isaac looked up at Allison guiltily. “He _needed_ someone. He's so alone. None of you realize how-- I just wanted him to, fuck, fuck, fuck! I messed up.”

“She slept with him,” Stiles said, hollowly. He wasn't exactly waving the Derek pom poms, but this? No one deserved to be used like that. Like a--  
“A distraction, using his feelings about losing his pack to weasel in and-- that _bitch_!” Stiles kicked out in rage, hitting one of Chris's rear tires. His hands immediately went up placatingly before burrowing into his hair, gripping tightly. “Sorry, sorry!”

But Chris was preoccupied, staring at Isaac intently. 

Lydia made a small sound of surprise, hand coming up to cover her mouth. Something about Isaac's words finally clicked. 

“You said 'again'...” she trailed off questioningly.

Isaac started visibly, looking over at Chris instinctively. Allison felt the muscles in his shoulders coil tighter. 

“Kate did the same thing to Derek when he was a teenager.”

The stunned silence lasted only a moment before the tinny ring of some terrible techno beat shattered it to pieces. Everyone immediately looked to Stiles, who was already shoving a shaky hand into his pocket, nearly dropping his phone in his haste to read its screen. He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on its faint glow.

"It's Derek."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the stage is set! :)
> 
> I have some issues with the show (as I'm sure you can tell), but I still love it. A major issue for me is the lack of resolution between characters and the lack of emotional intimacy between Derek and his Beta(s). I know, I know, we assume it's off-screen because of hints from the show, but I think Derek would have confided in Isaac at some point. Even if it was as simple as Isaac hearing him have nightmares or something similar, then having a small "we don't discuss this, but your suspicions are correct" sort of deal.
> 
> Uh, anyway. Thanks for reading! More to come, etc etc.
> 
> *Stiles's ringtone for Derek is the lolarious "Big Bad Wolf" song by Duck Sauce.


	2. Let's Get Savage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Let's get savage, gonna save our souls  
> Let's be savage till the feelin's gone  
> My heart is racin', my heart is racin'  
> My heart is racin' to what we are
> 
> I wanna get back,  
> Please help me get back"
> 
> Savage - Hacienda

Scott straightened his clothes again nervously, walking swiftly but calmly through the hospital. He'd learned by now that acting frantic and running would only slow him down further. Nose twitching at the familiar but still unpleasant burn of antiseptics and cleaners, he focused on Derek's scent. Stiles had helped him practice tracking all summer and it had definitely paid off.

“Room 309 – Cora Hale”

The door opened before he could even reach for the handle.

“Wow, you look, uh,” Scott stammered, surprised at just how much a toll the past few weeks had taken on Derek. His face was pale underneath the thick, dark scruff that had almost grown into a proper beard. The circles underneath his eyes were deep slashes, making his pale eyes stand out sharply. “Freaking awful, really.”

“I heard your howl,” Derek responded, stepping back so that Scott could enter the darkened room. He shut the door behind Scott quietly. “Did you find it? Why are you here? You could have just called.”

“I'm here to convince you that you need to leave the hospital right now and help us,” Scott said, evenly. He knew this was shaky ground. There's no way he'd leave his mom if she were in that hospital bed. Not over a phone call. Scott thought back to all the times he'd blown Stiles off in the past year and winced. Well, maybe over a phone call. Now. “Look, things just went from bad to worse, okay? She has the Sheriff and if we don't do something Stiles is going to go after him, backup or no backup.”

“She?” Derek blinked, taken aback.

“Yeah,” Scott swallowed and licked his lips, a flutter of nerves striking him suddenly. “The Durach is Ms. Blake, our English teacher.”

“Wow, seriously?” Derek rolled his eyes in exasperation. It took visible effort for him to keep from yelling, conscious of Cora laying asleep behind them. “Is this because you found out that we're--” he waved a hand, suddenly awkward and without words, “something? If it's not me murdering my own sister and half of Beacon Hills, it's your English teacher who happens to show an interest in Big Bad Derek, right? I don't have time for this right now, Scott. My sister _needs_ me.”

Derek's jaw hardened; the muscles by his ear twitched furiously.

Scott stepped back in shock. “Oh my _God_... you _banged_ the undead evil Druid lady?”

Suddenly, the fury melted from Derek's face only to be replaced by growing horror.

“You had no idea,” he said, hoarsely. He stepped forward abruptly, gripping Scott's shirt tightly. “Are you sure? You saw her!”

“Dude, I saw her, okay?! One second she was all normal and the next her whole _face_ was slimy and hacked up and-- she looked like Voldemort after a near-fatal lawn mowing accident!” Scott whisper-shouted, eyes darting around the room uncomfortably. He was desperate to look anywhere but Derek's face.

“The Sheriff...” Derek muttered, dazed. His hands loosened suddenly on Scott's shoulders. Scott eyes snapped with laser-sharp precision to meet Derek's, unnerved by the panic there. “Stiles. Where is Stiles? Does he know?”

“Yeah,” Scott focused on the wall just over Derek's shoulder. He watched the mesmerizing up and down spikes of Cora's heartbeat for a moment, then closed his eyes. “He was there. We both were. Everyone's at the school right now. We _need_ to call Stiles. I told him to find the Argents; we're going to need them for this.”

Derek flinched visibly at the name and Scott huffed impatiently, snapping, “Look, this is bigger than your issues with the Hunters! Mr. Argent and Allison are _not a threat_ and we need their firepower and their help.

Scott pushed Derek's arms away from himself, finally looking the taller wolf in the eye. Immediately, Derek turned away to shuffle like an old man over to the chair waiting next to Cora's bedside. He lowered himself down stiffly before reaching into his pocket pulling out his phone.

There was a moment of stillness and Scott became uneasy. He just stood and watched Derek hold the phone in his hand, staring down at with a deadened expression.

+++ 

How could he have been so stupid? Of course she was just using him. Derek felt the room warp around him and he shook his head numbly. He'd let himself believe, and she-- this is what he deserved, not Stiles and his father. She should have come for Derek, just like the Alphas should have had Boyd kill him instead. Boyd would have been a great Alpha, calm and collected. Sure.

Hell, Scott was a better Alpha than Derek would ever be. He'd probably even become a full-shifter, like Derek's mother. His mother, he'd give anything to have her here now. _I never wanted this! I never wanted to carry this._ , he thought, closing his eyes tightly against the howl building inside. He'd failed as a Beta and he was too _weak_ and pathetic to let himself become an Omega. Too scared to be that alone.

But an Alpha? He couldn't even keep himself from being led astray... from being toyed with, like an _idiot_. What good was he to Isaac? His only pack member left knew better than anyone else how broken Derek really was. Gripping his leg with his free hand, Derek let his claws creep out, digging persistently past the fabric of his jeans and into his thigh. The familiar sting of pain helped him focus on Scott's voice. He was listening from underneath miles of ocean; indistinct and garbled.

“We'll put him on speaker,” Scott murmured, cautious but certain. “Let me see your phone.”

Derek pressed his claws in deeper, tightening his jaw. This was his fault.

He let Scott take the phone from his slack grip and dial.

“Derek?” Stiles's voice invaded the small hospital room. He sounded uncertain, terrified. Derek's head hung low; his hand reached to wrap around Cora's wrist. His only real family... just like the Sheriff and his son.

“Stiles,” he began, before stopping short. His mind was whited out, like the blizzards from his years on the East Coast. Except Derek didn't even have a guide line to lead him back. How do you explain to someone that the weakness that killed your family, that ruined you, was the same one that had been used to destroy his, too? Derek wanted to let that howl escape, to claw his own skin to shreds. He felt filthy, disgusting... everything was roiling inside, like he was going to shift but instead, instead he would split right out of his skin like rotted fruit. “I-- we, we're going to find him. I promise, Stiles.”

“I need you and Scott to meet us at the Argent house. It's close enough to the school that we can regroup there. The cops and roadblocks have been established now, so we know where to avoid. Get Scott to call Deaton. We'll need everyone we can get,” Stiles replied, devoid of feeling. Shuttered. “I'll see you there in fifteen.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott nodded, jaw set in that determined way of his.

“Derek,” Stiles sounded uncertain again. The faintly static silence stretched, wavering almost perceptibly; a gossamer thread of spider-silk pulled taut to breaking. Derek closed his eyes and took his hand from Cora's wrist.

“Fifteen minutes,” he repeated in a wooden tone.

Scott nodded at him supportively before ending the call.

+++ 

Less than half an hour later they were all huddled in the Argent's study, arms folded and heads bowed forward in thought. With one exception...

“Dude, please,” Scott implored, eyes tracking his best friend's agitated pacing. “You have to calm down, Stiles. We need you. You can't think straight like this.”

He watched Stiles claw his hands through his own hair again and sighed.

“Deaton isn't coming and we need to get started. We don't have time for this, Scott,” Allison declared, eyeing Stiles with sympathy.

Derek, look,” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “I don't know what the hell is going on in that little broody werewolf head of yours and-- I actually can't even imagine it. And believe me, you _are_ gonna talk about that at some point, but right now? Right now you need to talk about Blake and _everything_ , every little shred of minuscule detail that might help us find my dad.”

Derek's head remained lowered, his fingers tightening on the soft folds of his jacket.

“I don't know much,” he said quietly. “She-- I was. It was after the warehouse. I was hurt; it was bad. Really bad. I don't know why, but once I'd crawled and dragged my way out, once I'd healed just enough to make my way into town...”

He looked up then, eyes boring intensely into Stiles.

“I ended up at the school, in the parking lot. And she was there,” he said, almost helplessly. “I thought-- it was stupid. She helped me home, helped me get cleaned up, then we-- well, you know what happened next,” he finished blandly.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “I have a pretty good idea.”

Derek had probably thought that for once fate had worked in his favor. That the pretty, sweet teacher who had seen him in full-blown wolf rage and still treated him as something special was just what he'd always been looking for. Affection and understanding. Stiles clenched his fists, anger coursing through him in a fiery wave.

“Did she ever share anything with you?” asked Chris. “Any stories about a family, why she ended up here? Where she lives?”

Derek shook his head agitatedly.

“No, I never asked.”

Isaac grunted to himself, a knowing expression on his face. When Scott and Allison both looked at him curiously, he shrugged dismissively.

“If he didn't ask her, then it was less likely that she'd ask him,” he said evenly. Derek flinched minutely at his words, before nodding.

“We never did anything at her place. I have no idea where she lives,” Derek admitted. “All I know is her scent, but now I'm not sure--”

“Not sure she wasn't masking it the whole time,” Allison concluded grimly.

“Right,” he said and lowered his gaze again.

“Maybe, we're focusing on the wrong thing here,” Scott began slowly. “Maybe we should stop looking for what we don't know about her and start looking at what we _do_ know.”

“The sacrifices,” Stiles stopped pacing abruptly. “We know who did them now, but we still don't know why. I mean, we know what the sacrifices can _do_ , the power that they give... but for what? What's her endgame?”

“I think I know who might have an idea,” Lydia's lips thinned. She'd been uncharacteristically silent during all the discussion, but now she spoke up as confidently as ever. “The twins.”

“Tonight confirmed something. We know the Alphas and the Durach showed up at the same time, but definitely not together,” Chris grunted, expression a strange blend of impressed and surprised. “Which means that the Alpha pack is her target. Odds are, they know exactly why.”

“Well, yeah, we suspected that all along,” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

“But now we _know_ ,” Scott echoed, before Allison could speak up. “That changes things in a big way. Lydia's right, we need to call one of the twins.”

“And say what?” Isaac frowned in distaste, attempting to mask the rage that stiffened his lean body. “Hey, thanks for killing my friends, wanna come over for a campfire and s'mores? Derek, are you really gonna let them do this? They killed your _pack_!”

“I _know_!” Derek stood abruptly, jaw clenched tightly enough to crack bone. “But what else can we do right now? We need their help.”

All the tension left his body in a flood and Derek slumped against the wall, defeated.

“No, we don't ask for their help,” Chris said slowly. “We make an offer.”

“No,” countered Stiles. His face was grim, but his eyes gleamed. “We make an ultimatum.”


	3. The Devil Takes Care of His Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do you dare to speak his name, there's evil at the room,  
> Crueler plan it's on your mind, go on and give the dice a roll..."
> 
> \- The Devil Takes Care of His Own (Band of Skulls)

Chris turned to Derek with an unreadable expression.

“Hale, I think it's past time that you and I discuss a few things. And I don't know about you, but I could use a drink while we do it,” Chris finished with a sigh, squeezing Allison's shoulder briefly before walking out of the study towards the kitchen. Derek looked startled. Then he sort of just looked like a man taking his first steps down Death Row, pushing off of the wall to silently follow the hunter.

“Well?” Isaac said blandly, a sneer faint at the edges of his mouth, clearly unnerved by what had just happened. It was obvious that he was aching to follow Derek. “Who's gonna do the honors?”

The teens all turned as one to look at Lydia.

“What? I do the hot and heavy tango with one of them and all of a sudden I'm the diplomatic emissary between a bunch of angst-fueled wolf boys?” Lydia examined her nails with a purse to her lips. “I think that's a little ridiculous, honestly.”

“Lydia...” Allison sighed, long-suffering.

“Oh don't even start,” Lydia scoffed. “Don't forget that every one of you kept me in the dark last year and nearly got me killed. Several times!”

“She's not who we need, anyway,” muttered Stiles, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers thoughtfully.

Lydia made a faint noise of disdain, miffed, “You always need me, Stilinski.”

“No,” Scott agreed, looking sideways at his best friend. “We need Danny.”

“Then you should tell him why,” Lydia raised her chin slightly, eyes defiant.

“Now is not exactly the time to have a pissing contest, Lydia!” Stiles wheeled on her angrily; she startled, clearly taken aback and hurt.

“You're right, Stiles,” she said quietly. “But haven't you noticed it's _never_ the right time until it's too late? This isn't just about _me_ , it's about you,” she spread her arms wide to encompass the entire group, “ _learning_ from the mistakes you already made!”

Stiles took a shuddering breath and raised on hand, finger pointed towards her angrily.

“Don't talk to me about too late, Lydia. I know better than anyone right now and I really don't need to hear it from someone who's been shacking up with the local, murdering psychopathic hottie,” Stiles spat the words at her and she stiffened, plush lips thinning. They stared off like two alley cats about to pounce, all ragged claws and spitting yowls.

The sound of tinny ringing filled the room and they both turned towards the sound, surprise etched across their faces. Scott shrugged at them, minutely.

“Finally,” huffed Isaac, eyeing Scott gratefully. The other boy flushed faintly in response and Allison narrowed her eyes from her perch on her father's desk, filing that reaction away.

Moving quickly, Scott placed the phone on the middle of the desk and hit the speaker button.

“Hello?” Danny sounded vaguely out of breath and irritated.

“Well, at least we know Ethan's there,” muttered Isaac.

“Danny? Hey, uh, it's--” Scott began, a faint dusting of pink showed on his tanned cheeks.

“I know who it is, McCall,” Danny rolled his eyes verbally. “My cell phone tells me these things. It's almost magical. Now what do you want?”

“We want to talk to your little boyfriend,” Stiles said coldly.

“Stilinski?” said Danny, taken aback.

“Yeah, Stilinski,” replied Stiles flatly. “We know Ethan's there and we want to talk to him.”

Scott let his face fall into his cupped hands with a sigh and a groaned, “Stiiiiles.”

“Oh, let him shoot himself in the foot, sweetie,” Lydia was one again examining her nails, smirking faintly. “Danny, unlike the majority of you little wolf pups, actually _has_ a spine.”

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me what the fuck your problem is Stilinski before I hang up, block you, then hack your phone and send a mass text to everyone you know with the blackmail I pull from your network,” Danny replied sunnily.

“Well joke's on you, Danny Boy,” Stiles countered cheerfully. “See, since this whole werewolf vendetta shenanigans started-- oh, sometime around your best friend being a murderous tainted shifter lizard last year and your little stud muffin murderous shifter wolf, Hi, Ethan!!-- I haven't exactly spent a lot of time with the Internet and little Stiles, if you catch my drift.”

“...Jesus, Stilinski, get a life,” Danny muttered, before the dull grating sound of the dial-tone assaulted their ears.

“You are such a vindictive bitch sometimes,” Lydia threw up her hands and stalked past Isaac and out of the study.

“Yeah?” Stiles yelled after her, “Well you would know!”

Allison shot him an absolutely filthy glare before running after the other girl.

“What,” Stiles muttered at the two boys staring at him with utter disbelieving expressions. “I did what she told me to!”

“And you wonder why you're still a virgin,” Isaac shook his head sadly.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Scott agreed, picking up the old-fashioned landline off Chris's desk and dialing. “And you call _me_ socially awkward.”

“Fuck you,” muttered Stiles balefully. “I was making a point.”

“Yeah, I know, buddy,” Scott wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders. Isaac watched them sadly and Scott elbowed him with a little grin. The taller boy snorted, rolling his eyes slightly. “All I'm getting is a busy signal,” Scott frowned.

“Shit,” Stiles pulled away from Scott, pacing again frantically. “I planned on calling him back! How is he already on another call?”

“Well,” Isaac pondered aloud, shrugging again. “He might be calling the police. I mean, I feel like most people would.”

Suddenly, Lydia sailed into the office with a bemused Allison in tow.

“Mmhmm, believe me... I know Stilinski's an asshole,” she said, full of long-suffering irritation, “But I _know_ you, Danny. You're a smart guy. Do you really want to miss this chance to finally know what's been going on around here? To know what Jackson was hiding from you? Tell your boyfriend we have some very important information for him and his pack... of friends. I'm sure he knows the Argent address. We'll see you both soon,” she finished smoothly, ending the call with a flourish.

“He called like thirty seconds after we walked out,” Allison bit her bottom lip and ducked her head, clearly still amused.

“Huh,” Scott said, “That explains the dial-tone.”

“Oh, thank God,” Stiles moaned, leaning against Scott's shoulder wearily.

“You don't deserve me,” Lydia stated simply. Stiles flapped an arm at her.

“Sooo, not to ruin the moment or anything,” Isaac drawled, “but what exactly are we ultimatum-ing to Tweedle-Dee?”

“Ethan seems to be the lesser of the two evils, so...” Scott mumbled, clearly thinking aloud.

“He's definitely not a fan of Deucalion. We need something to convince him to defect,” said Allison thoughtfully, arching her neck

“Well whatever it is, we need to come up with it fast, like really fast. Is reverse considered a maximum speed if by reverse I mean we need this leverage yesterday? Hell, last week,” Stiles said, voice wavering. “It's been a little over an hour now since-- fuck, man, I can't even _say_ it.”

“I know something that will convince Ethan to... remove himself, and his brother, from Deucalion's pack.”

Stiles straightened so fast he nearly fell over. He moved forward unconsciously and a glimmer of hope sparked in his eyes. Derek and Chris were flanked behind Deaton in the doorway with set jaws.

“Derek did not kill Ennis.”

 +++

“Dude, whose side are you _on_?” Stiles gaped at in disbelief approximately five minutes later. “I can't tell if you're Obi-Wan or a frikin' Sith Lord! Scott, you're doomed either way.”

“For once, I have to agree with him,” Isaac stage-whispered to Allison, leaning over Scott to do so. Scott surreptitiously elbowed them both, but he was smiling. Isaac's mood had improved significantly since Derek's return.

“Does that make you Jar Jar?” Scott quipped thoughtfully, looking pleased with himself. Lydia giggled faintly from her cosy position in the corner armchair, fingers flying across her phone's screen.

“Oh har har,” Stiles mocked half-heartedly.

The doorbell rang suddenly and everyone froze with surprise.

“Man, I can't remember the last time I heard a doorbell,” Stiles said with only mild sarcasm. “I mean, you guys are all about the smashing and leaping through windows and crawling up and over roofs scene. I almost don't know what to do with myself here.”

Chris rolled his eyes, “I'll answer the door. My recommendation is that Derek and I do all the talking.”

“Don't forget about Obi-Wan!” Stiles called after his retreating back; Chris shook his head slowly and kept walking.

“Derek,” Isaac murmured quietly, looking at his Alpha imploringly, clearly torn with so many witnesses present. Derek just nodded at him, expression tight, fixing his eyes back onto Stiles' tense frame perched against the dark desktop.

Isaac relaxed slightly, shoulder brushing against Scott's in a way that seemed more than circumstantial. Allison caught Scott's eye and slowly, deliberately walked around him to stand on the other side of Isaac. Scott smiled at her gratefully, then reached for one of Isaac's hands. The taller boy's breath stopped and he looked at Allison, a mixture of shock and confusion on his face. She just mimicked one of his usual shrugs and took Isaac's other hand in her own.

“They're here,” Derek muttered, eyes tearing away from Stiles and turning to meet Ethan's as the young Alpha walked through the study door.

Danny followed him slowly, peering around the room with a look of deep suspicion etched on his normally placid face. “What's this about, Stiles?” he asked defensively.

Derek stepped forward, turning to stand in front and center in the small space, blocking Stiles partially from view. Danny's mouth twisted in irritation and he was clearly about to speak. Instead, he looked at Ethan questioningly as the other boy reached out and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“You have no reason to be afraid, whatever happens,” Ethan said quietly, disturbingly earnest.

“I wouldn't bet on that,” Derek disagreed darkly, catching their attention once more.

His eyes flashed red and the Betas in the room echoed with bright gold; then he snarled, fangs elongating slowly, deliberately drawing out the change. Like a precision clock, Isaac and Scott followed suit.

“Welcome to the freak show, Danny Boy,” Stiles said flatly, stepping forward and draping a lazy arm on Derek's shoulder. “Why don'tcha take a peek at your boyfriend...”

Danny tore his eyes away from the spectacle to look at Ethan, pulse jumping visibly in his throat. He ripped his hand away from the other boy with a strangled sound, before whirling to look at Derek again disbelievingly. A shadow of hurt flickered across Ethan's wolfed-out face before he nodded and took a defined step away.

The other boy was clearly panicked, but recovering quickly. Danny narrowed his eyes at Derek and swallowed audibly.

“I knew you weren't Stilinski's cousin,” he said, dazedly.

Deaton and Chris moved to block the doorway calmly.

“Welcome to my life,” Lydia chirped wryly, looking up from her cell finally. Her eyes were soft with sympathy as she flipped her coppery curls back over one shoulder. “Believe it or not, this is probably the nicest way anyone has ever been... indoctrinated.”

Danny chuffed a shaky laugh, “You're still an asshole,” he said, pointing directly at Stiles. The lanky boy responded with a flutter of his eyelashes and a dramatic “who, moi?” expression.

“Enough,” growled Ethan, sneering faintly at Derek's answering rumble. “Why are we here?”

“Because you don't believe in Deucalion's methods,” Deaton replied smoothly. “In fact, I don't think you ever have.”

“It doesn't matter what either of us thinks,” Ethan angled himself cautiously, eyes darting between Deaton and Derek; he settled on placing his back towards Lydia. He'd clearly marked her as the least threatening to expose himself towards, a gesture that sent the redhead's eyes rolling derisively.

“If you really felt that way, you wouldn't be here,” said Chris, bluntly. “Why take the risk of entering enemy ground like this otherwise? You're becoming desperate.”

He turned his cool gaze to Danny, whose brow crinkled in confusion.

“What is he talking about, Ethan?”

“Tell him,” Derek grit out between clenched fangs. “Tell him what your Alpha does to expendables like Danny.”

“Not that Derek here is calling you expendable,” Stiles added glibly, tone slightly mocking as he fluttered his free hand towards the confused human. “But Derek and Ethan's friends don't really see eye to eye on much. Call it a difference of philosophy.”

“Just fucking _say_ it, already!” Danny yelled, something the other teens hadn't ever seen before. It was clear he was becoming rattled. “Enough games.”

“Oh, nothing here is a game,” Chris replied, unflappable as ever.

“My pack,” Ethan swallowed, stepping towards Danny imploringly. “They're... driven. We have one goal and any-- Any distractions or weaknesses aren't tolerated for long.”

Danny's face twisted, hurt and surprised, “Distraction? Weakness?”

His voice was drowned out by Isaac's vicious snarl. His arms quaked from the struggle not to crush Scott and Allison's hands in his grip. “My _family_ is dead because of your _goal_!”

“You don't understand!” Ethan barely contained the roar rumbling in his voice. “You have no idea what we're up against! We _need_ Alpha's like Scott!”

“Bullshit,” Stiles countered, his tone dead and leaden. “The Durach that has you all so whipped with fear? That has you big _bad_ Alphas murdering _teenagers_ and running around with your tails between your legs? Yeah, it has my dad. So, your already unconvincing argument? Invalid.  We know what we're up against perfectly fucking well.”

Derek closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He focused on the furious but steady beat of Stiles' heart next to him. “I didn't kill Ennis,” Derek said, the shift melting away from him.  He opened grey-green eyes to stare evenly at Ethan's.

“It was Deucalion.”

“You're lying,” Ethan rocked back, his own features human once more from his shock. He didn't sound very convinced by his own words, but Stiles figured a little positive reinforcement couldn't hurt.

“Listen to his heartbeat!” he hissed.

“You had every reason to want Ennis dead! We all knew about your little girlfriend, Derek. It was our example not to follow,” Ethan said, voice dripping with derision. Derek's eyes flashed red abruptly, leaning forward in preparation to pounce, and Stiles placed a calming hand over his chest.

“Derek is telling the truth, Ethan,” Deaton left Chris' side to stand in front of the agitated teenager with the disarming air of a born diplomat. “I watched Deucalion crush Ennis' skull. He was attempting to incite Kali's rage, her thirst for vengeance.”

“Did you even bother to examine his body?” Chris questioned intently. “You dragged him to the clinic... wasn't it at all suspicious to you that his wounds changed so drastically?”

Ethan shook his head numbly.

“Didn't even let you look at the body, huh?” Lydia shook her head in mock sorrow. “Shame.”

“If Kali-- you have to help me convince her,” he pleaded. “She would _never_ continue to support him if she knew about this! We could end this and--”

“What about your brother?” Danny asked softly.

“He would listen to reason,” Ethan replied, unconvincingly.

“Here's the reality of your situation, son,” Chris said, “You are going to convince your brother and Kali to abandon Deucalion. Then, the three of you are going to help us find Sheriff Stilinski. If that means one of you has to take on Deucalion as a distraction... so be it. We will help build that plan, but not a single one of our people will be facing him.”

“Abandon him?” Ethan sounded surprised.

“Why waste good bait!” quipped Stiles cheerily.

“Ah!” Lydia gasped happily in her corner. “Just like we thought, Stiles... Jane Doe ripped apart by 'wild animals' a decade ago.” She tuts thoughtfully to herself before smiling wildly at Ethan.

“Want to take a guess at who the wild animals were?” Derek asked stonily.

“You're going to make a trade,” Danny said slowly.

“Boy, you are a quick learner! And processing this all so freakishly well...” Stiles said admiringly.

“Jackson is my best friend,” Danny shot back. “I'm pretty practiced at using context clues to deal with being kept in the dark.”

“Danny,” Ethan began, sounding very young suddenly. “I didn't mean to-- you weren't supposed to be...”

“Real?” Danny said, bluntly. “You didn't even make the decision to be with me, did you? Deucalion, whoever the fuck that is, and his Master Plan, huh... are you even _gay_?

“Of course I'm gay!” Ethan threw his hands up, exasperated. “Yes, I went after you in the beginning because I was ordered to, but I _stayed_ even after I was ordered to _stop_.”

Danny's eyes widened.

“Holy shit, you're telling me you risked _dying_ to be with me?”

Ethan looked distinctly uncomfortable and cut his gaze away.

“Oh, sure,” Stiles rolled his eyes with a huff. “You believe _him_ when he tells you he's gay! Do you see this, Derek? No, ah, okay-- nevermind. You're a lost cause. Anyone else? I could have totally been gay for you, Danny!”

“Like I said, Danny,” Lydia got up and put an arm around his waist supportively. “Welcome to my life. Wait till I tell you all about my Beauty and the Beast moment with Jackson.”

Chris sighed and looked at Deaton with a hangdog expression, clearly communicating: _teenagers_.

"Have you made a decision?" Deaton sighed, holding his hands out and palms up, almost as if pleading for a straight answer.

Ethan scrubbed his hands furiously through his hair.

"Deucalion is out of his goddamn mind. Yeah, I've made my choice," he said quietly but firmly, finally meeting Danny's eyes. "I think I made it a while ago."

"Well, that's just sickening," Stiles muttered, squeezing Derek's shoulder. He could feel the Alpha's frame tremble slightly from the release of so much tension.

"I'm not an armrest, Stiles," Derek retorted.

"Whatever, someone's gotta hold me up right now. I'm half a second away from a full collapse, clutching at my pearls and everything."

He felt, rather than saw the faint crease of Derek's smile. Stiles felt suddenly and completely out of his depth.

“I think I know where the Sheriff is being held!” Allison broke the strange mood with an excited shout. She looked up from her position behind the desk, her hands tracing over the markings that were outlined in plain ink before any of the discussion had even begun. Scott and Isaac grinned over her shoulders, clearly pleased with themselves.

Stiles practically fell off the desk in his haste to spin around, smacking Derek in the face with a stray elbow.

“Where?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Three chapters of ALL OF THE TALKINGGGG. You guys are troopers, now for the real fun! <3


	4. I Try to Talk Big, But My Mouth Don't Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "i know i'm fucking moody  
> and i know i'm quite unkind  
> i know i'm kind of distant  
> but you're always on my mind  
> and you imply that i'm apathetic  
> right to the bone  
> and i don't wanna let it go"
> 
> weirdo - the vaccines

“We have to go North.  Up near Oregon.”

“...come again?”

Scott looked vaguely gassy for a moment and Stiles braced himself. He knew Scott's thinking face and it usually came with a long, somewhat disjointed explanation involving lots of translation from Stiles' natural filter for his best friend.

“Scott, I love you like a brother but this had better be good,” Stiles said.

“Okay, listen... when I talked to Deucalion, he told me something about 'currents'," Scott looked over at Danny.

“And that's why you looked at me sideways when you saw my paper,” Danny said slowly, realization dawning. “Telluric currents have been hypothesized to be power sources by mystics for ages.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Scott thrummed with excitement now.

“We've been discussing it and I remembered reading something about currents in all the research we've been buried in,” Allison added.

“Ley lines,” Stiles said, nodding to himself. He looked over at Scott, smiling faintly at his friend with pride.

“My mom,” Isaac cleared his throat, looking surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. “She was a big modern hippie. She um, she talked all the time about balance and power flowing naturally like streams and, y'know. Stuff. Every August there was a Harmonic Gathering or something up in the mountains.”

“Of course,” Deaton said. “Mount Shasta. Three peaks. In local legend, it's a gathering place for harmonious energy that peaks with the yearly rhythms of the Earth. There's a festival every year.”

“We used to take summer trips there,” Isaac said quietly. He looked around almost defensively. “It was... nice. Kooky, but nice. My family wasn't always--”

“We know,” Allison smiled gently at him. “Sometimes families just... bad things happen and they change.”

“And sometimes they just show their true colors,” Derek muttered. Stiles paused in the middle of the tapping on his phone to shoot him an exasperated and pensive look.

Derek stared back up at him challengingly before Stiles looked back down at his phone with a muttered curse; he'd started typing furiously immediately after Deaton's announcement. Now he simply looked it sitting in his cupped hands, face slightly ill.

“Okay, I still expect a better answer because according to Google Maps... Mt. Shasta is something like three and a half hours away. We don't have the option of being wrong about this,” Stiles looked slightly strangled for a moment.

“Mt. Shasta is legitimately a point that lies directly along a gathering of ley line energy. Local 'kooky' traditions usually have a grain of truth to them. One of the more popular legends is that Mt. Shasta has and can be used as a place for healing...” Deaton trailed off thoughtfully.

“Which we've now confirmed Blake is trying to do via the sacrifices...,” mused Chris. “Now that she's been forced to reveal her hand, she's going to have to think big. Speed is crucial.”

“What's bigger than the three-fold death?” Lydia asked the room at large.

“Well, now that we know what that bitch is using the power for, shouldn't that narrow it down?” Stiles asked Deaton. “Healing... what are the big rituals for healing? Have you done any big healing rituals before? Or, y'know, any healing rituals, really. You _are_ a druid, right?”

“Stiles,” Derek growled quietly.

“What,” Stiles snipped back. “It's a legit question. I mean, have _you_ seen him do anything magical lately? Or ever.”

“There is one ritual that stands above the rest,” Deaton steam-rolled over Stiles, unperturbed. “On the sixth day of the moon, mistletoe growing on the branches of a white oak can be gathered and used in a healing rite.”  

Deaton's lips thinned as he continued, “Pliny writes of it in his observation of the Druids. It's called 'Hailing the Moon', which loosely translates to 'healing all things'. Beneath the oak tree with the mistletoe, two white bulls with newly bound horns are brought to rest. A druid then climbs the tree and cuts down the mistletoe with a golden sickle and it's caught in a white cloak. Once the ritual is completed, the mistletoe can be 'given in drink'. It will impart fertility and serve as an antidote to all poisons, bringing full restoration to the body from all ills.”

“Well, as Druidic rituals go... that doesn't sound so bad,” Isaac said, pursing his lips into a thoughtful moue.

“Uh huh,” Stiles muttered skeptically, “What happens next?”

“The bulls are sacrificed,” Chris finished, heavily.

“Of course they are,” Stiles dropped his face into his hands wearily.

“You said the sixth day of the moon,” Allison mused, looking from Deaton to Stiles hopefully. “That gives us more time than we thought. If we can actually get the Alpha Pack on board, we should be able to find them.”

“I'll go and speak to my brother now,” Ethan said decisively. “Even with a four day timeline, this can't afford to wait. There's still a lot of convincing to do.”

“Okay, let's roll,” Danny agreed blandly, heading for the door.  Ethan actually tripped in his haste to cut him off.

“No way, not a chance!” Ethan said, arm shooting out to block Danny's way. “I'm not putting you in any more danger.”

“You mean besides being poisoned with mistletoe and almost dying when you _weren't_ putting me in danger,” Danny replied drily. “I'm coming with you. No more sideline, out-of-the-loop bullshit. If I'm going to be hurt because I'm with you, then it's going to be on _my_ terms.”

Ethan looked poleaxed.

“You seriously still want to be with me?”

With a roll of his eyes, Danny walked out the door muttering under his breath.

“Y'know, I don't think Ethan's the Alpha in all of that,” Stiles commented off-handedly, waving a hand after the pair.

“He's not an Alpha,” Derek said tiredly. He looked positively ancient, exhausted and beaten. “Just a scared, stupid kid.”

The tense silence that followed was palpable.  

“We'll start mapping out a search grid of the area,” Chris broke the mood. He looked towards his daughter, who nodded and followed after him but not before pausing to give Stiles a brief hug. Isaac and Scott instinctively moved to follow her but were brought up short by Chris's stare. “I'm sure Stiles and Derek could use your help in planning out search teams and manning. Lydia? Your expertise would be much appreciated.”

“Oh, sure, Mr. Argent,” Scott stammered towards the man's back as he walked away. Lydia winked at the boys as she followed in Chris's wake. “We'll... stay here and help out.”

Isaac clapped him on the back in solidarity. “Next time, just nod.”

“Yup,” quipped Stiles.

“Derek, this means you'll have to leave your sister for a few days. Are you prepared to do that?” Deaton asked quietly, compassion thick in his voice.

“Mrs. McCall offered to keep an eye on her for now,” Derek replied. “Peter is supposed to be taking over when her shift ends. They agreed to send me updates every fifteen minutes.”

“My mom has your number?” Scott asked, clearly disturbed by this information.

“You trust Peter to watch your sister?” Stiles asked almost simultaneously. “Are you sure that's a good idea considering, well-- Never mind. Your family. Shutting up now.”

“Isaac, hit him for me,” Derek said blandly, looking down at his phone expectantly.

“Ow!”

Derek's phone dinged tinnily, signaling a new message and Scott groaned miserably.

“Just keep your skeevy uncle away from my mom, man.”

+++

Three hours later, everyone's energy had been totally spent.

Derek had disappeared to somewhere. Everyone figured he'd earned the right, all things considered. It didn't stop Stiles from switching between pitying and rage-filled towards the man quickly enough to give him whiplash. But he'd sort of earned that right, himself.

Chris and Deaton were murmuring quietly to each other in the kitchen, nursing cups of coffee. The girls were curled up together on the plush couch in the living room, ink staining their hands and wrists. Scott and Isaac were each in their own particular sprawl of unconsciousness on the office floor.

Stiles... he ended up sitting in his jeep, fiddling with his radio without any real interest.

Unbidden, the image of the lankier wolf flashed through his head. Isaac had ended up with his back to the wall, angled into a corner. Even in sleep, the guy was wary... just waiting for the next blow.

Stiles sighed, running a tremor-filled hand over his head. He coiled the short strands of his hair around his fingers and tugged. They'd all lost so much to this hidden world. When it really came down to it, he and Scott were the only ones who have been relatively unscathed so far.

Maybe it was just his turn.

The thought sent a block of ice plummeting right down his chest and into his stomach. He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose his _dad_.

Dimly, he heard a faint tap on his passenger window. Stiles turned to look at Derek in complete shock, leaning over to roll his window down a crack.

“Did you spontaneously grow etiquette and _knock_?”

Derek looked down, the barest hint of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Stiles squinted suspiciously.

“You looked like you could use a distraction,” Derek smoothly didn't answer, shrugging. Stiles noticed then that he was wearing just a t-shirt and yeah, werewolf blood and all, but it was still chilly tonight.

“Get in, failface,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You look so tragic, standing politely outside my nice, comfy Jeep in the cold. Like a well-mannered stray.”

Derek just grunted, unimpressed and climbed in. They sat in almost companionable silence for a long time, with Stiles worrying madly at his bottom lip and Derek just staring out the windshield. Not for the first time, Stiles idly wondered what Derek's mundane thoughts were about.

“I think about random shit all the time, but I have this like, re-occurring theme,” Stiles said suddenly.

“If this is about porn or Lydia or both, I really don't want to know, Stiles,” Derek replied.

“Well, those things too, but I was talking more along the lines of a vacation.”

He could actually feel Derek's eyes on him as the man turned his way, “A vacation.”

“Look, man, all I'm saying is if there is any group of teenagers plus one mid-twenties creeper who have _ever_ earned the right to lay around on a beach, it is _us_. I mean, obviously that's if you take into account middle-class, first-world privilege and all,” Stiles, mused, gesturing at his steering wheel emphatically. “And the adults, too. Rough year all around.”

“I'm an adult,” Derek said, sounding miffed.

“...you just keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Stiles smiled in mock-sympathy. At least until he looked over and saw Derek's face. “Hey man, you aren't the worst adult ever. I mean, there's always Peter.”

Derek huffed out a damp sounding laugh, thick and not at all happy. He tilted his head back to rest against the Jeep's worn vinyl cushioning.

“I am pretty terrible at this, huh,” he said ruefully.

“Well, you haven't exactly had a lot of support from life in general,” Stiles muttered. He fiddled with the vents on his dash, desperate for something to do with his hands. “And I have no idea why I'm defending you, either, so don't ask.”

“You're lying.”

Stiles could swear his heart actually stopped beating.

“What--” he managed to choke out.

“Not about me and the Greek tragedy of my love life,” Derek peered over at him, expression a strange mix of surprise, confusion and hope. “Your heartbeat just jumped; you know exactly why you're defending me.”

“Because no one else does! Hell, _I_ accused you of murder... Twice!” Stiles threw up his hands. “From what I can tell, the only girl you've ever dated that _didn't_ try to kill you, or use you, or rape you was Paige and you--” Stiles is rendered incoherent from all of the emotions trying to claw their way out of his throat at once.

“So you pity me,” Derek said, voice suddenly arctic.

“Yes! No!” Stiles clawed at his hair. “I don't _understand_ you, except when I totally do. I just... I look at you and I wonder what could possibly be left. I mean, if I let myself think about it, I can't fathom how you even manage to function on a daily basis. It's mind-boggling.”

“And you can't handle not understanding how things work,” Derek replied, matter-of-factly.

“I _hate_ it,” Stiles seethed, head thunking backwards dully. He was pretty positive that this was exactly why Derek and he didn't talk in anything but jeers and barely suppressed testosterone.

“I have a bachelor's in education.”

Stiles rolled his head to stare blankly at Derek, “Wha-- huh, really?”

“Yeah,” Derek smirked a little, self-satisfied. “English major. After, we moved to New York, I just... read a lot.”

He shrugged with a vaguely embarrassed expression.

“I realized that I couldn't trust myself to recognize people's intentions. Or at least that's what I told myself, but I feel like recent events have just confirmed it further,” Derek's voice dipped bitterly for a moment, so viciously filled with frustration that Stiles felt his toes curl in tensed sympathy. “I don't understand people, not anymore. I use my senses, but that only gets you so far... besides, it's not like they haven't been fooled enough times.”

“You went from All-American to a library geek?” Stiles said, wonderingly.

“Understatement,” Derek actually covered his face with one hand. “I was a total loner. It drove Laura crazy... It's not-- natural, not for a wolf born to a pack like ours. I think it's why she became so obsessed with finding answers here.”

“She wanted to help you put the past behind you.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Instead it buried her.”

“I never apologized,” Stiles said abrupt, words tripping over each other. “For treating it, her death, like some sort of cheap thrill. Honestly, I don't know how you didn't punch us in the throat that night.”

“You were just kids,” Derek said, “Young and dumb, bored. It sucked, but- honestly? You reminded me of myself.”

“We 'were' just kids?” Stiles repeated dumbly.

“You can't tell me that you haven't changed, Stiles,” Derek looked at him evenly. “You're not kids anymore. Not in the ways that matter. I'm sorry I didn't do more to protect you from that. I didn't even realize-- not until the Alphas came for my pack. I got caught up in finally being able to...”

Stiles swallowed, feeling the weight of this moment sinking over them like the inevitable crush of the tide.

“Being able to what?” he croaked out.

“Trust someone,” Derek was staring out the windshield again. “I trusted you, not completely, not quickly or easily... but I trusted you. I _do_ trust you. And that doesn't usually work out so well for me.”

The Jeep felt far too small for so much-- Stiles was pretty sure that the vinyl itself was actually soaked in all the emoting going on. It was suffocating, but holy shit, Derek Hale just _opened up_ to him. Willingly! Not underneath the pressure of impending death, torture, or supernatural whammying.

Derek _trusted_ him.

Stiles slumped low in the driver's seat, weighed down by the enormous sense of responsibility he felt from that revelation.

“So,” Derek muttered, clearly discomfited. “What did we learn today, Stiles.”

Oh god, Derek just tried to make a joke. About personal information he'd willingly revealed to Stiles. Clearly, he was hallucinating from the sleep-deprivation. And Druidic trauma.

Stiles blinked up at him slowly, still processing, “You have a lisp.”

“That's what you got from this?” Derek responded incredulously attempting to scowl, but his ears were tinged pink.

“It's really, _really_ faint, but totally there,” Stiles grinned.

“Remind me to beat you later,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles took a moment to find his balls and blurted, “I trust you, too. I mean, not your judgement in women, obviously, but I trust you. You may not always make the best decisions, but I know you're making them for good reasons. Even if your definition of good is kind of warped.”

Derek stared at him impassively.

“Wow.”

“Shut up, I suck at this too.”

They sat in the Jeep all night, listening to the terrible alt-rock that wavered across the airwaves and lulled them into a cramped, restless sleep.


	5. Would You Step Back From the Line of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "what would you do?  
> each crest of each wave,  
> bright as lightning,  
> what would you say..."
> 
> line of fire - junip

Someone was hurt. Those sounds, they were not okay. He had to-- where--

Stiles slammed the side of his head into something unyielding and painful with a gasp. “Wha-- Jesus, fuck ow ow!” Right, window. He clutched at the side of his head, wincing. Then he heard it again, that awful gut-wrenching sound of pain and fear.

“Derek?” Stiles murmured, squinting through the watery light of the coming dawn over at the man curled up in the passenger seat next to him.

Derek was curled in on himself, face hidden in the crease between his arm and chest protectively. One arm wrapped around his stomach, the vulnerable pale line of his hip and belly exposed from his scrunched up t-shirt. Derek's left arm was raised, protecting the sliver of his jaw and cheek that were still exposed. Stiles watched as Derek's hand clenched convulsively, twisting to grip his dark hair in a way that looked painful.

He swallowed, something in his gut aching at the sight of his friend's clear distress.

His friend.

“Derek.” he repeated, trying to keep his tone as even and non-threatening as possible but still firm. “Derek, you need to wake up, man. C'mon, you're freaking me out here.”

Derek's shoulders heaved slightly, his breathing ratcheting suddenly in a very familiar way.

“No, no, no,” Stiles muttered, his own anxiety rearing up and demanding notice. Hyperventilating werewolf, not good-- not good at all. Instinctively, he reached out his hand before common sense drew it to a halt just inches away from Derek's coiled tight shoulder. “Derek, please, you need to _wake up_!”

Stiles groaned in frustration, hands wavering uncertainly in the air. He registered the faint rasp of Derek's voice muttering between his labored breaths.

“Stop, stop, no-- don't- I don't want,” Derek wheezed, “No more, no no no-no-no no!”

“Oh God, Derek,” Stiles echoed the man's pained whimper for a moment, torn, before jerking forward with a determined snarl. “Fuck this.”

He laid his hands on Derek's shoulder gently, murmuring low, soothing nonsense. Babble, he was good at babble. Derek flinched away from his touch instinctively a weak growl rumbling in his chest, broken by his still erratic breathing. Stiles kept his touch light, barely there, crawling awkwardly to kneel next to Derek; a bare six inches separated their bodies and Stiles ached to close that distance and comfort.

He should go get someone, but he couldn't bear the idea of leaving Derek like this. What if he woke up and took off? What if he attacked some poor stranger because his head was all-- Derek-y.

“Bad idea, Stilinski,” he muttered to himself, “This is a bad, bad idea. Werewolf, small space, freaking out-- bad, bad, bad. Textbook mauling scenario, right here. So much bad.”

_I trust you._

“Derek, it's me, Stiles... I'm here, man,” he said quietly, clearly. “You're probably gonna kill me for this later, but too fucking bad.”

Stiles took a deep breath and took the plunge.

Scooting forward carefully, Stiles closed the distance between them, ignoring the sharp dig of the stick shift into his kidney. He reached for Derek's hand that still clawed desperately in his own hair and gently tugged at his fingers, gaining enough leverage to tangle them with his own. Derek moaned, trying to squirm into the side of the door. Stiles just squeezed his fingers tightly and tugged gently, angling to brace himself against the dashboard.

“C'mere, man,” he murmured, barely recognizing his own voice it was so soft and gentle. “I don't care if you feel like you deserve one, you're getting a fucking hug.”

It was like trying to bend steel bare-handed, but Stiles managed to make enough wiggle room between Derek's body and the door to wrap his other arm around the man. He tugged forward gently, but relentlessly until Derek was coiled like a knot against his chest. Stiles ducked his head down to Derek's ear and started up a litany of reassurances, still squeezing Derek's fingers carefully in his own.

“Can't-- breathe. Won't stop... 't hurts, Laura.”

God, he sounded so young. He sounded just like Scott, when he first turned. Bewildered and lost, just generally confused that people could be so _awful_.

“Bullshit, you _can_ breathe. I need you to wake up, Derek,” Stiles muttered fiercely, lips brushing against their twined hands. “Don't let Kate run your life. Not now.”

He wasn't prepared for Derek's violent jerk, werewolf strength easily unseating him from his perch against the dashboard. Stiles tumbled forward gracelessly and ended up half in Derek's lap as the man drew his free hand up and _dug_ into the tender flesh at the nape of Stile's neck.

Stiles barely had time to register Derek's strangled, “No!” before he was tugged underneath the crashing wave of a thousand sensations at once.

_Lust. Acceptance. Hope. Betrayal-loathing-regret-PAIN._

“I don't know whether to kill it... or lick it.”

He ran and ran and ran, terror and disgust fueling him.

_Helplessness. Revulsion. Despair._

He felt his skin crawling. She was touching him, no no no! He tried to jerk away, brought up short by the chains at his wrists. The white-hot convulsions of the cattle prod flooded through him again and again until he hung limply, spent.

Dimly, the rippling sound of a zipper being tugged down echoed in his ears.

He gagged, twisting his head to the side, desperate not to _see_.

She cupped his balls, false tenderness punctuated by the sudden and vicious twist of her wrist. He choked on a scream, determined not to give her the satisfaction.

“Aw, that's cute. Trying so hard, aren't we Der?” her voice purred, breath ghosting across his navel. His abdomen quivered from the sensation. “This is gonna be _fun_ , sweetie.”

Stiles whimpered.

He couldn't breathe.

_He couldn't breathe._

“Stiles!”

“What the fuck did you _do_ , Derek! Let me _go_ Isaac!”

“Back off, Scott.”

“ _Stiles_!” Derek's voice thundered in his ear, sick and terrified.

Stiles gasped, eyes flying open wide; he clutched his hands into the solid muscle holding him up. Derek. Kate. Derek and Kate. Oh-- oh god.

“Gonna...” Stiles leaned over Derek's tensed shoulder and heaved again and again, bile burning a bitter path up his throat to spatter all over the pavement. He breathed raggedly, heaves subsiding as he finally registered _here_ and _safe_.

Derek's hands tightened on him, bracing all of Stiles's weight. They were propped up against the side of his Jeep with Derek seated in front of him, arms cradling his shoulders and the back of his head.   _Shielding me from the metal_ , Stiles thought muzzily. He shifted his legs weakly, stopping short when he realized they were curled up and draped over Derek's lap.

“What the fuck,” he said intelligently.

With great effort he lifted his head and blinked at the half-moon of concerned faces surrounding them. Scott was being held on either side by Allison and Isaac a few feet away. Lydia's pale face peered from tangled red hair above them as she hung from the passenger seat of the jeep.

“Hey, Stiles,” she said quietly, clearly shaken. “You scared us.”

All the tension drained out of Scott swiftly, “Stiles,” he sounded so grateful. Relieved.

Stiles shook his head slowly.

“You need to leave,” he said almost apologetically. Stiles looked up at Scott and grinned shakily. “Derek and I are gonna have a bro moment.”

Scott set his jaw, face stony before shifting right to mutinous.

“Scott, you need to _leave_ ,” Stiles repeated with steel in his tone. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to wait, feeling the faint tremors of Derek's hand cradling his head.

“They gone?” he murmured quietly, feeling Derek's jerky nod in response. “Good.”

Stiles opened his eyes and stared at the top of Derek's head, hanging to look at somewhere just over his shoulder. In the faded morning light he could see the deep, burnt brown shades littered through the inkier whole. Derek was alarmingly pale, his beard stark against the sallow skin of his face, the cut of his cheekbones. Stiles could feel the exhausted shame radiating off him in waves and it _pissed him off_.

“You don't get to do that,” he muttered, angrily. “You _do not_ get to blame yourself for this. You stupid, stubborn, bag of martyrdom.”

Derek's haze colored eyes snapped up to meet his, wide with shock before slitting in anger, “You can't tell me this isn't my fault--”

“The fuck I can't!” Stiles shouted, rocking forward to get right in Derek's face. “Guess what, you can't hide anymore. We know now, you can't hide it-- fuck, we know, okay? I know-- I _saw_.”

“Because I fucked up!” Derek shouted back furiously, his irises bleeding over into red. “You weren't supposed to see that! No one was supposed to see that! I can't-- I didn't want you to. Not like that.”

Stiles swallowed his anger as he realized just what was going on.

“You wanted to make the decision,” he said.

Derek looked away, jaw tight.

“You were gonna tell me eventually,” Stiles continued sadly, “But now. It's just another decision you didn't get to make... another thing she took away.”

He watched the bob of Derek's adam's apple as he swallowed nervously before nodding.

“And you're an idiot,” Derek muttered. “I could have killed you. In my _sleep_.”

Stiles felt himself flush, “Yeah, shut up, I know okay... Not my smartest move.”

He rolled his eyes at Derek's snort.

“God, my mouth tastes like death,” Stiles made a face. “We should probably move away from the puddle of awful, dude. I vote shower. Then nap.”

Derek tensed like a spring ready to shatter and Stiles made an executive decision. “Text your minion that we'll be at the loft. We are not going back to Argent's right now. Fuck that.” He felt rather than saw Derek's grateful look as the Alpha untangled from him, hauling Stiles up after him. They stumbled jerkily into his Jeep again and twenty minutes later Stiles was showering in Derek Hale's bathroom.

What was awkward was just how _not_ awkward it felt.

Stiles was too bone-deep exhausted to further examine that surreal realization. After a perfunctory scrub, he padded out of the shower, slung one of Derek's towels around his waist, and gargled half a bottle of Listerine. He pulled on the sweat pants and t-shirt that Derek had handed off to him, swallowed less by both than he would have predicted. Maybe all this fighting evil stuff was paying off in some ways, he thought wryly, pinching at the curve of one bicep with a rueful expression.

He was still a twig compared to Derek, but at least he had put on some muscle in the past two years.

Stiles stepped out of the bathroom, scrubbing at his hair with the towel. Derek was sprawled on the bed, his own hair still faintly damp, staring up at the vaulted ceiling morosely.

“There's a blanket on the couch,” he said, still not looking at Stiles. Distant. Stiles felt his eyes narrow.

“Uh, no way. After last night I definitely deserve a real bed,” Stiles parried. Didn't this guy know by now that Stiles wasn't a team player when it came to Derek's bullshit?

“You are _not_ sleeping in Cora's bed,” Derek replied, smirking, emotion creeping its devious way into his tone.

“Dude, not a chance,” Stiles stammered. Cora was kind of terrifying. And she hated Stiles like burning. Maybe. He figured it was safer to just assume. “Scoot over starfish, I'm seriously about to keel over here.”

Stiles walked over to the bed and flopped onto it unceremoniously. He could hear Derek's panic like an alarm ringing through the silence, so Stiles focused on keeping his heartbeat even and nuzzled into the pillow he'd claimed. If Derek wanted him to leave, he would have to say so because otherwise Stiles was just an enabler of the man's inability to create healthy boundaries and use his words.

Besides, this bed was stupidly comfortable.

“Don't call me 'dude',” Derek muttered before rolling over onto his stomach. His hand radiated a layer of heat a few inches from Stiles's own and yeah, if Stiles pretended to stretch and grumble in his sleep until their fingertips were touching, so what.

They were both still pretty wrecked by all of the shit had gone down so the way Stiles saw it?

This? Was what he would tentatively label progress.


	6. I've Underestimated My Charm (Again)

“Gah!” Stiles yelped, bolting upright, awkwardly tangled in strange sheets.  He panted, eyes wide and searching.  “Wha-- where.  Mrmph?”

Derek snorted quietly, releasing Stiles's ankle from his loose grip.  Right, Derek... his house, his shower, his _bed_.  Christ. 

“You need to shower and get dressed.  The others will be on the road in fifteen to meet us at the out-skirts of town.  It's ten am.  We should be at our search grid by one or two, which gives us a solid five hours of daylight to establish a camp and start searching,” Derek tossed another clean shirt and Stiles's dirty jeans at him.  “Scott packed you a bag, but you can wear my shirt for now.”

Stiles fingered the soft fabric absently, nodding slowly.  He wondered if Scott had packed a set of clothes for his dad and the thought sent his heart throbbing into a painful staccato.  That set off a cascade of distraught thinking:  When was the last time his dad had eaten?  Slept?  Had water?  What if he was injured?  Infection could have set into his blood by now and--

A warm hand settled heavily onto his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“We'll find him, Stiles,” Derek said, solemn in a way that Stiles didn't think he'd ever heard before.

“Yeah,” Stiles reached up, laying his fingertips across the solid proof of Derek's comfort before shrugging and standing.  “I'll be out in five.”  Stiles felt rather than saw Derek move away towards the door.  He sensed the other man pause at the doorway and Stiles looked over curiously, one eyebrow raised in question. 

“Uh, there's underwear in the top drawer.  If you-- yeah,” Derek walked out the door, his back tense and Stiles stared incredulously at the pinked tips of the man's ears.

“My _l_ _ife_.”

Stiles ignored his own flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror and bee-lined for the shower.  Right now just was _not_ the time.  He made sure the shower was on the wrong side of lukewarm with vicious determination.

+++

“This is ridiculous,” Stiles whispered furiously to himself, staring at the top drawer of Derek's dresser like it was filled with vipers and not Hanes products.  “I'm a grown-ass man.  Sort of.  Almost.  Regardless, I need underwear.  No running around after creatures of the night commando.  Never again.”

He licked his lips nervously and with a muttered _fuck it_ pulled open the drawer, then grunted in surprise.  Stiles should have known Derek was a black briefs kinda guy.  There were a few pairs of obviously well-worn boxers (Dude, was that a _Robin_  pair?) and a few boxer briefs, but half the drawer was neatly half-folded and rolled plain black briefs.

Deciding he just wasn't ready for the intimacy of wearing one of the man's favorite lounging boxers, Stiles snatched a single rolled black brief before he could bitch out and shut the drawer.  Firmly.

Dressed and still toweling his hair, Stiles walked down the spiraling stairs and to the kitchen.  

“Dude, it smells kind of amazing down here,” Stiles said, stomach rumbling in approval.  The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon and a general air of _warm_ soft baked goodness.

“Your plate's on the counter,” Derek replied, rolling up and off the couch and stomping into his boots, slinging his leather jacket onto his shoulders with a shrug.  “I'll take the first shift driving so you can eat.”

“Uh, you want to drive my Jeep?” Stiles gaped a little, hand instinctively going to the pocket of his jeans to clutch at his keys.

“Or you can just not eat...” Derek trailed off with the tiniest of grins playing at the corners of his mouth, “Your loss.”  Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then peeled back a corner of the foil covering the plate on the counter.

“Ohmygod, are these--”

“Cinnamon bun pancakes,” Derek finished for him smugly.  Curse his smarmy pointy face.

Stiles tossed him the keys with a glare, grabbing the plate and a pint of chocolate milk from the fridge.  

“You've won this round, Hale,” Stiles sniffed haughtily, “Just remember that my baby is _loyal_ , okay.  You don't stand a chance.”

“Less talking, more walking _Stilinski_ ,” Derek replied, full of snark and barely disguised fondness.

They drove in an almost companionable silence, the Jeep filled with the music of Stile's ipod set to shuffle.  Every now and again a random, mildly embarrassing song would start to play and Stiles would reach for his ipod, hurriedly flicking past to a less mortifying choice.  Eventually, Derek reached over and snatched the ipod from his hands, then turned the volume up.  Stiles watched his fingers tap out the beat of Britney Spears' “Toxic” onto the Jeep's steering wheel with morbid curiosity.

“...Really?” Stiles asked.

“It's a good song,” Derek shrugged.  “Just because it's standard radio pop doesn't mean the lyrics aren't worthwhile.  One of my favorite covers is of this song.”

“Right!  That's what I've been saying for years!” Stiles gestured with both hands towards the roof with an obviously dramatic air of frustration.  “Wait, there's a cover for Toxic?”

“Yeah, I'll burn it for you sometime,” Derek signaled to pass a moseying minivan in front of them.  

“Oh my god, are you a secret hipster?” Stiles crowed gleefully.   This was like Christmas come early.  He pictured Derek with a knit scarf, fingerless gloves and a sullen expression busking for dollars by playing Top 40 hits on a ukelele outside of a subway station.  

“Stiles,” Derek drawled his name out in that unimpressed flat way of his, “I studied English Lit. at a New York university.  Mainstream song covers are the least counter-culture _anything_  of what I was exposed to.”

“Derek Hale: Ninja Hipster,” Stiles breathed with false awe.  “This is explains so much, really, it does.  Tell me, did you practice your disaffected air in the mirror every morning before smoking pot in the commons and elucidating on the cyclical woes of mankind?”

“You're such a bitch,” Derek shook his head, that tiny fond grin tilting his lips again.  

“Whatever,” Stiles muttered, tilting his head back onto his seat with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “You love it.”

Derek just grunted, surly and dismissive, but when Stiles slanted his gaze left he saw that the fond grin was still firmly in place.  His stomach swooped, filling with an unexpected warmth.  Is this what Isaac got to see every day?  It would explain a lot about the other teen's loyalty. 

Isaac was smart enough to recognize that Derek was not the best Alpha to ally with, but Stiles could now see why the guy didn't make the smart choice and kick rocks to another town with a stronger pack.  It was kind of hard to want to abandon a guy who made you cinnamon bun pancakes and liked Britney Spears songs and probably read Chaucer for fun.  

And, y'know, would die for you and your family.  Or complete strangers.

Stiles felt a bitterly fierce protectiveness swell somewhere underneath his sternum.  Derek might not come out on top all the time, or ever, but it wasn't for lack of fucking trying, that was for damn sure.

The song finished and another began, the two of them were silent again, and Stiles watched the sun flicker through the trees to pierce his closed eyelids: red, gold, black, red, gold, black...

Rinse and repeat.  Two more hours to go.

The road curved in front of them, stretching for miles and miles and Stiles realized that he wasn't afraid, not anymore.  He had every reason to be absolutely inarguably losing his shit, but right now, in this moment-- his heart was still.  

It was a novel feeling for him and Stiles wasn't sure what to do with that knowledge, but he filed it away just like everything else.

+++

Stiles parked the Jeep and tugged the e-brake into place with a permeating sense of finality.  

“Y'know, as terrible and awful as all of this is...” he mused thoughtfully, “It's kind of an epic setup for some great stories.  One day, for our grand-kids maybe.”

“Or terrible, horrifying, traumatic experiences that will make our grand-kids cry in their sleep,” Derek deadpanned back at him, staring straight ahead.

“Great clearly means very different things to us,” Stiles replied with a roll of his eyes, climbing out of the Jeep.  He scanned the area critically.   The dead-end road they'd stopped stopped abruptly in a small clearing.  This would be home base.  

The air was crisp with a freshness that seemed stronger than back home, the trees stretched out over the sloped expanse like a verdant blanket, and even his mundanely human hearing was flooded with the sounds of a healthy forest.  Closing his eyes momentarily, Stiles tilted his face to meet the sun and focused on the feeling of rightness that echoed from somewhere deep in his chest, radiating outward.

“Becoming one with the universe?” Derek drawled from just behind his right shoulder.

“Shhh, I'm finding my chi, Grasshopper,” Stiles quipped back, grinning up at the sky with eyes still shuttered closed.  The crunch of gravel filtered down the road towards them and Stiles opened his eyes, turning his head to look Derek in the eye.  “And that would be our posse.”

“Zen time over,” Derek grunted.

“Yup,” Stiles agreed, face hardening.

Within ten minutes every vehicle had pulled into the clearing.  They all drifted to form a circle in front of Chris's SUV.  The mood was serious, flat expressions all around and Stiles felt the inner peace from the drive up seeping away.  Chris unrolled a large map of the area onto the hood of his vehicle and gestured everyone closer.  

“Ethan and Aidan are on their way.  They should be here within the hour.  Kali is with us and she's currently keeping tabs on Deucalion.  Once we give her the word that the trade is a go, she'll 'acquire' some intelligence to pass on that will put him where we want him, when we want him,” Chris said matter-of-factly, before gesturing at Lydia to take over.  He folded his arms, mouth a thin line of concentration as he listened.  The Hunter nodded with approval as she began laying out the grid and search teams succinctly and firmly.

“We decided that the best way to go for optimum safety and success is to pair one wolf with one human.  Or in Danny's case, twin wolves with one human.  Deaton will stay here with me at base and establish a perimeter using his... abilities.  I'll be making adjustments to the grid as each pair reports in every fifteen minutes,” Lydia spread her small hands over the map almost reverently. “Stiles and Derek are Team 1, Isaac and Allison are Team 2, Scott and Chris are Team 3, and the twins and Danny will be Team 4.”

Lydia and Chris looked around expectantly as this news sank in.  If anyone had an issue, they swallowed it down.  Quickly.

“We have a grid of 16 squares, each square is two miles long and two miles wide.  The goal is to _thoroughly_  cover as much ground as possible as quickly as possible,” she continued. “We'll be using a squared-spiral search pattern, working inward.  Once you hit the center, spiral back out at an off-set of a quarter-mile and then cross over into your next square.  Each team will go directly to the next square in their 'lane'.  You see anything suspicious, you report back, mark it on your map, and maintain position until Deaton clears you to keep moving.”

“I'm assuming we take a picture and send it back to you and Deaton?” Stiles asked, chewing on a thumbnail nervously.  

“Yes, Stiles,” Deaton smiled, “Phone service here is spotty, but still available.  Everyone's phone should be fully charged which gives us approximately eight hours until we need to re-group.”

“Since she's masking her scent we can probably assume that she's masking the Sheriff's too,” Derek interjected quietly.  “We're going to have to rely on our other senses, primarily hearing.”

“Masked or not, each of you should still memorize his scent; just in case,” Allison replied.

Derek nodded at her with an arched brow, “Of course.”

“Shouldn't we do the same?” Isaac asked, seeming almost startled by his own interjection as all eyes turned to him.  “Uh, I mean-- mask our scents?  If she smells us coming, then we lose a major advantage, right?”

“Dude, you're a genius!” Scott beamed at Isaac, who pulled the most endearing _aw shucks_ face that Stiles had ever seen. “I mean, we can pull that off, right Deaton?”

“It should be fairly easy, yes,” Deaton replied, smiling encouragingly at Isaac.  “It's a good idea.  I'll make a set of hex sachets for each of you to wear.”

“I'll also be giving each of you a micro version of the transmitters we use for hunting,” Chris said.  “If you're separated, turn it on and report back.  Wolves, I don't like it, but if you don't get a response over the walkie... howl once every five minutes or so until your partner finds you.  If you're captured, definitely turn on your transmitter or howl.”

“If we don't hear a report from a team regularly, we'll contact the nearest pair to go to the last known location.  If the same happens, the others will be recalled back here and we'll assume that the location of the disappearances is our goal and strategize from there,” Deaton added.

“Wow,” Stiles clapped his hands together, heaving a gusty sigh.  “You guys really thought this one out, huh?”  

He was trying not to let himself be overwhelmed by the sheer force of the gratitude that was flooding through him.  This was all-- kind of humbling, really.  For the first time in a _long_  time, Stiles had been able to just _lose it_  for a bit and someone else stepped up to do all the heavy planning.  For someone like him, so fidgety and fussy and well... controlling, this was a huge weight lifted.  

Maybe Derek wasn't the only one around here learning to trust.

“Duh,” Lydia abandoned her precious map to walk over and poke Stiles in the gut with a perfectly manicured finger.  Ow.  “He's your Dad, Stiles.  Besides, I haven't exactly forgotten the Sheriff coming and saving me from wandering the woods of California naked and confused, so I owe him one.”

Stiles just pulled her into a grateful hug, turning to hide his face in her soft curls.

“Thank you.”

+++

Half an hour later, everyone was packed, strapped, and hexed to full readiness.

“I feel like a commando,” Stiles said wryly, pulling a face.

“Yeah, it's a little more than you'll probably need, but a tarp and sleeping roll are going to be pretty important to you if staying overnight away from camp becomes necessary,” Chris countered, turning Stiles with his hands to adjust the straps of his small pack.  “Looks like you're good to go.”

“Yeah, point... and thanks,” Stiles muttered, distracted by the smooth, efficient motions of Allison adjusting Danny's straps for him.  She was kind of terrifying in full hunter mode.  Huntress mode?  He eyed the knives strapped to her thighs, the crossbow and quiver slung across her back, and the compound bow leaned up against a nearby stump with wary appreciation.  Yeah. “I uh, guess I should have brought something in the weapons area of preparedness, huh?  I mean, I have a bat in my Jeep...”

Chris eyed him critically with those pale, piercing eyes of his.  Stiles fought against the urge to squirm.  

“I think I have something better,” he replied, with an alarming gleam to his eyes.  

Stiles followed him like a curious duckling all the way to the rear of the shiny black SUV.  

“I think these would be best for you,” Chris reached, lithe back blocking Stiles's view momentarily.  When he turned, Stiles just eyed the metallic objects in his hands doubtfully.

“Uh, and what are those?” Stiles asked, baffled.  They looked like really chunky bracelets, only obviously made with lethal intent and not aesthetics in mind.  Matte black and solid, they looked like they would cover a significant portion of his wrist and forearms.

“These are tasers,” Chris explained, motioning for Stiles to hold his arms level.  Stiles complied automatically, watching as the man strapped the wrist-guard-bangle-stunners onto his arms.  “Turn this knob here, press down, lock it into place and you're ready to fry someone.”

“Not that I'm complaining really, but why can't I just have a gun,” Stiles asked, eyeing the tasers critically.  Figures he'd be stuck with the defensive weaponry and not something good.  “I know how to shoot.  My dad was pretty adamant seeing as he keeps a gun around at practically all freakin times.”

“I'm sure you know how to shoot, Stiles, but you've never had to shoot _at_ someone before, you've got limited combat experience, and...” Chris paused to shrug almost apologetically. “You're clumsy.  These are weapons that you can't drop, that can't be taken from you easily, and that incapacitate.  Remember, we don't want to accidentally kill her before she gives up your father's location.”

“Well, when you put it that way...” Stiles muttered snarkily, feeling slightly miffed at clear lack of faith in his prowess as a hunter.  Not that it wasn't entirely justified, his conscience rationalized traitorously.  He was definitely no Argent.  Chris clapped Stiles on the shoulder almost kindly and then handed him a thigh holster with a bowie knife dangling from it heavily.

“Defensive weapons for now; we'll work on your offensive skills after all this is done.”

“You mean after our victory vacation in the Bahamas,” Stiles smiled weakly before bending down to strap the fucking _Rambo_ knife to his lean leg.

He was still bringing the bat.

+++

Walking around in a circle through the woods was surprisingly exhausting.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every sense Stiles possessed was being strained to the max, hoping and praying for some sort of indication of his dad.  He should probably just leave it to Derek given that his senses were far superior, but Stiles just wasn't wired that way.

Derek was striding with a purpose over the rough terrain a few yards ahead, body one long anticipatory line forward.  They hadn't said more than a handful of words to each other since they started their search pattern over two hours ago; the job at hand had all of their focus.  Abruptly, Derek paused and Stiles watched his head cock to one side in a distinctly feral way.  For a second he forgot to breathe, hope blooming painfully in his chest. 

“Derek?” he whispered, hands clenching at his sides automatically.  With a low growl of frustration, Derek shook his head and Stiles felt his stomach swoop with disappointment.

“Deer.  Off to the left, about a hundred and fifty yards, maybe,” Derek gritted out, disappointment reading loud and clear.

Stiles exhaled shakily, tears of frustration clouding his vision before he quickly swiped them away. “Well, at least we know there's plenty of dinner roaming around.  I mean, not that I want you to slaughter and devour Bambi or anything.  Watching Scott with that rabbit was bad enough.  I'm definitely a wuss who prefers not to meet his dinner while it still has a face,” he babbled, trying to mask his own distress.  

Suddenly, Derek was there, big warm hand fitted around the nape of his neck and applying gentle, but firm pressure.  Stiles felt his panic ebb away and his eyes slipped closed gratefully.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“Bambi used to be Cora's favorite movie,” Derek replied in lieu of a 'you're welcome' and Stiles snorted, amused despite himself.  The hand on his neck kept radiating a pleasant, comforting warmth that Stiles zeroed in on like a moth to flame. “She liked Thumper a lot... used to get me to stomp my foot like him.  It always got her rolling around, giggling like a lunatic.”

Immediately, unbidden, Stiles pictured Derek dressed up as a particularly sour-faced bunny, complete with big fluffy feet and long ears that drooped.  He almost choked on the laugh that bubbled up from his gut.  

“Please, _please_ tell me you were a bunny for Halloween,” Stiles managed to gasp out.  Derek squeezed his nape with a faint growl.

“You mock my pain,” he said, with a faint air of intonation.  It was clearly a reference of some sort and it registered familiarly with Stiles, but he just couldn't-- Oh my God.

“C'mon, Buttercup, let's roll,” Stiles fished, a spark of delight making itself known in his voice.  

With the tiniest of pleased grins, Derek released his grip and Stiles almost (definitely) shuddered at the feel of his fingertips sliding across and away from his skin.  He watched Derek's broad back as the older man began hiking again, slack-jawed and mildly stunned.  

Huh.

Stiles filed that away, too.

+++

Derek frowned, trying and failing to filter out the pained grunts behind him as Stiles pushed himself past his limits.  They hadn't stopped once and as fit as the teenager was from years of lacrosse, he wasn't exactly used to this kind of relentless exercise.  Derek didn't need his sensitive ears to easily detect the off-kilter tread of Stiles's painful gait; his feet were probably a mass of blisters by now.  

It had been six hours since they began their search and they were nearly half-finished with their second grid square.  

For the hundredth time Derek agonized over demanding that they stop for a break.  He knew it made the most sense to pair with a human; if there were any traps or boundary issues for a werewolf, having a human there to help or bypass them was critical.  The same applied in reverse.  Their weaknesses and strengths complimented each other, but it was still difficult for Derek to reconcile that when Stiles was clearly pushing himself too hard in order to 'compensate' for being human.

“Hey,” Stiles said suddenly, “Do you feel that?  It's cooler all of a sudden.”

“There's a river nearby.  I can hear it and the air smells... fresher,” Derek replied, unsure how to accurately describe the simple _good_ scent of the clean, flowing mountain water.  Maybe he could convince Stiles to take a break if they crossed.  He'd have to take his shoes off and the cool water would ease the pain of his abused feet.  

“D'you think we should cross?” Stiles flipped open the map to examine it.  “It looks pretty wide.  It angles directly into our third grid so we're gonna have to cross eventually anyway.  And there's a cliff... maybe some caves?”

Derek grunted, mapping it out mentally, “We should cross.  I'd rather do it now while we still have light and then retrace back into this grid and towards the camp.  Covering ground we already know in the dark isn't so bad.  We have a little over an hour left of daylight.”

“Yeah, let's do it,” Stiles nodded firmly to himself, rolling the map back up and tucking it under one shoulder strap.  

Less than ten minutes later Stiles found himself sincerely regretting this decision.  Maybe even every decision that he'd ever made that could be accused of leading up to this one moment.  He was stripped down to his (Derek's) briefs, pec-deep in frigid mountain runoff, with forty pounds of clothing and gear perched precariously on his head.

"I'm starting to think we made a bad decision here!" Stiles yelled ahead through clenched teeth.  "Seriously, I think my nipples could cut glass right now!"

Derek was irritatingly impassive, as per his norm.  He was following the slight bend of the river to bypass the overhanging cliff, aiming for the gently sloping bank perhaps fifty yards further against the flow.  Irritatedly, Stiles muttered about buff werewolves and their seemingly effortless strength as he winced and grunted his way through the strong current and over painful rocks.  The final straw was Derek turning to grin back at him, waggling his eyebrows in a way that could only be described as "superior".  Why Stiles had ever found him intimidating was a mystery.  Now he was just filled with loathing for the smug bastard.

"My hate for you is an _ocean_ , Hale!" Stiles snarled.  He managed to shakily raise one hand to give Derek the finger and fought a grin at the man's chuckle.  "We're talking big.  Like the Pacific."

"Here, let me give you a hand," Derek began walking back towards Stiles.  He was just a few feet away now and Stiles sagged a little in relief; God, it would be nice for Derek to carry his gear, too.  Just for a little while.  "I know your feet are killing you, so--"

Suddenly, he stopped stock-still, face ghost-pale and eyes wide.  Then he _dove_ at Stiles shoving his wiry torso into the water as he covered it with his own broader one.  Stiles panicked, dropping his gear and head-butting Derek in the gut in the process.  While he was scrambling to find purchase enough to leverage Derek off of him, spitting mad at being dunked, Stiles was rocked by series of huge impacts.  Startled, he froze and the water was filled with what seemed like depth-charges, bubbles exploding in a frothy muted _boom!_ all around.  His heart stopped for a moment as realization struck.  They were rocks, huge freaking rocks falling from the damn sky, and they were slamming into Derek's body as he shielded Stiles. 

Another massive impact propelled them both down into the water and then there was silence.  It all couldn't have lasted more than sixty seconds at most, but it felt like an age.  Stiles planted his feet on the river bottom and heaved up with all his might and managed to roll Derek over, grasping his limp arms tightly.  He felt a wave of nausea strike him as he took in the thick ribbons of blood trailing down the river.  Derek was a mess.  A clearly unconscious mess.  Stiles swallowed back a gag; that white gleaming patch in Derek's dark, sodden hair… was that?-- oh God.  Yup.

"What is _with_ you and water!?" Stiles shrieked weakly, desperately clinging to the dead weight of Derek and his own pack.  They couldn't stay here like this; he wouldn't last much longer.  

Decision time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys, life's been kicking me in the face a bit. i'm gonna aim to have the next chapter up by friday, though, so... \o/? 
> 
> (you _all_ rock)  <3


	7. Guts, no... Glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "you love somebody,  
> you better hold on...  
> you better hold on till you die."

“When was the last time Derek and Stiles checked in?” Lydia asked Deaton, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth. She rubbed anxiously at the ugly line of bruises that circled her throat.

“Half an hour,” Deaton responded. “I don’t want to alarm you, but…”

“But _what_ ,” Lydia repeated flatly.

“When we arrived I began aligning my senses with the ley patterns here. Doing so allows me to sense any disturbances, almost like a spider and his web,” Deaton explained, eyes searching the darkened woods past her hopefully.

“I’m assuming you felt something.”

“Yes,” Deaton turned his gaze back to her. “There was a not insignificant release of energy just a few hundred meters away from Stiles and Derek’s last known location.”

Lydia covered her mouth anxiously, “Oh my God, you don’t think--?”

Deaton’s mouth twisted and he shrugged his shoulders lightly, “I don’t know. I can’t be sure from the feel alone. I didn’t want to alarm you until we knew for sure they were not responding.”

“I’m calling Chris and Scott,” Lydia snapped out, eyes narrowing with determination. She brought her walkie up, keying the channel and stalked over to the map. “Scott, we need you to take a detour. Stiles and Derek haven’t reported in. Get a pen ready… I’m giving you the coordinates now.”

+++

Straining against the current, Stiles clung to Derek, arm looped under the unconscious man’s arms and high across his chest. He’d managed to drop the pack and catch his foot through the loop, effectively snagging it. There was no way that Stiles would last long without it unless the others found them quickly; something Stiles had learned not to rely on with any kind of certainty. Gritting his teeth, Stiles stretched his left foot out towards the bank as far as he could, then dragged the unwieldy pack behind. It was awkward and painful. His blistered feet dug into the graveled river bottom and Stiles stifled a gasp.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Derek continued to be less than helpful, a dead weight in Stiles’s arms. His head lolled against Stiles’s arm and he pushed down mentally against the sickened roil of his gut. Stiles stretched his left leg out again and again and again.

No way in hell was he letting go.

The bank was still maybe twenty yards away and his limbs were beginning to shake. Stiles clenched his jaw until he felt the muscles there cramp and pulse. He focused on that pain and ignored the agony of his feet, the burn of his arms and legs. Derek was depending on him.

All the past times that Derek’s life had been in his hands flashed through his mind rapid-fire, like a slideshow. They were followed by images of all the times Derek had saved Stiles... Had saved Scott... Had saved them all. If he’d were a human, Derek would have died a dozen times over by now.

Stupid douchebag though he was, Derek was a good guy. He deserved better than drowning in the middle of nowhere.

“Okay,” Stiles panted, “As someone who has pulled your furry ass out of the fire plenty of times now,” he groaned as a particularly sharp rock sliced through the tender skin of his foot. “I claim rights to nag you until the end of time about being a Real Boy. That means socializing and having fun and getting a _job_.”

The bank was less than ten feet away and Stiles wanted to sob with joy.

“And you will absolutely have zero relations with anyone until they’re approved by me,” Stiles heaved Derek’s limp, dead weight onto the shore and sagged on top of it while he caught his breath. Just for a second, he reminded himself. Stiles tried not to enjoy the reassuring solid warmth of Derek against his own body.

He reached down with a shaking hand to drag the pack onto the bank next to them, then crawled up onto the safety of the sweet grassy ground to tug Derek inch by painful inch out of the water. Satisfied that they wouldn’t be dying in the next five minutes, Stiles flopped onto the ground next to Derek’s prone form and just breathed, limbs trembling with exhaustion. Night had fallen in an undeniably absolute fashion.

“C’mon, Stiles,” he chastised himself, “Fire first, then shelter. Can’t help anyone if you die from exposure.”

Stiles winced and groaned his way through putting on his shoes. They’d be ruined forever from the blood, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. Once his feet were protected again, he hobbled away from the grassy bank and into the half-circle of the tree line. He gathered enough small brush and tree limbs to start a decent fire. There was a lighter in his pack somewhere.

He tried to ignore how vulnerable and ridiculous he felt standing in the middle of the woods with an armful of branches in nothing but a soaked pair of briefs and sneakers. This kind of shit never happened to the good guys on TV. It was all heroic rescues and rugged clothes or slick suits, not some scrawny, pale teenager in his (Derek’s) underwear.

 _Derek is unconscious and sprawled out in the woods in just his underwear_ , his mind helpfully reminded.

“Yeah, well, Derek is built like an extra from _300_ , so he can afford to be the unconscious and mostly naked eye-candy,” Stiles muttered to the surrounding trees. Unbidden, the mental image of Derek in a Praetorian leather skirt and nothing else. Stiles nearly dropped the wood from the automatic urge to bury his face in his palms. Jesus Christ, this was _not the time_. “Besides, his angst probably keeps him plenty warm in situations like this.”

+++

With a small but steady fire crackling just outside the tree line, Stiles felt a small weight lifted. He still had plenty to take care of, but at least they would be warm. Now, to prioritize. His thoughts had been flitting around like a hummingbird since the rock slide, but now Stiles focused on reining them in and finding some sort of useful order.

Dragging Derek into the warmth beside the fire seemed like the best place to start. After all, it stood to reason that if the were’s body was fighting the chill it would take him that much longer to heal. Fifteen minutes of swearing, limping, and panting later… Derek was positioned parallel to the fire and Stiles was reconsidering his previous thoughts of Derek being a _300_ extra.

“More like a living Greek statue,” he muttered, shooting a foul glare Derek’s way. “Actually, I bet marble weighs less. No more protein shakes for you, dude.”

He loped back to the water’s edge to grab the sodden pack and plopped down next to Derek and the fire. After a few minutes of rummaging he located the tiny micro-transmitter and Stiles wasted no time in flicking it on. Derek didn’t even twitch, which meant he was well and truly out. Great.

Stiles unsnapped the sleeping bag from the pack’s bottom and gave a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had the foresight to buy waterproof storage for it. He tore it open with numb, clumsy fingers and eyed Derek’s limp form next to him.

One bag + two mostly naked dudes = coverage issue.

Eyeing the night sky above them Stiles decided with a resigned shrug that using the tarp to put up a shelter would be his next step. The stars were bright points of light in a clear, dark sky; the only good luck they’ve had recently. Stiles laid out the tarp facing the fire and took the Rambo knife from his pack, slicing some boughs from the nearby trees. It took some ingenuity and more patience than Stiles really thought he had, but he managed to prop the back end of the tarp at a forty-five degree angle facing the fire. Hopefully, this would reflect the heat back towards them.

“Now, for the best part,” he muttered, irritation masking the anxiety fluttering in his chest. Pulling out the first aid kit, Stiles rummaged for bandages and butterfly band aids. He wasn’t worried about infection, but even were’s could bleed out and keeping the wounds closed might help it heal faster.

Tools in hand he crouched next to Derek cautiously and allowed himself to really take in the man’s injuries. He was black and blue in huge, ugly patches and Stiles had seen enough dislocated shoulders from lacrosse to know that Derek’s right shoulder was _definitely_ not right. The slices and scrapes covering his body were mostly healed, but there was some pretty scary swelling and discoloration just above Derek’s right hip.

“Internal bleeding, maybe? Kidney?” Stiles wondered aloud, ghosting a hand over the area with a grimace. “I really need to get Ms. McCall to teach me some of this stuff.”

Deciding that there was fuck-all to could do about it and realizing that he was becoming uncomfortably aware of how close his hand was to Derek’s crotch, Stiles moved on to examining Derek’s head. He had several gashes still oozing blood. The worst two were near his right temple and the base of his skull. Stiles could clearly see the faint, wet gleam of bone and he gagged a little in response.

“God, that is… awful, oh man,” he tilted his face upward for a moment to gather his composure. Just once he’d like to _not_ see his friends’ insides. “Why can’t we ever hang out at the aquarium or something equally safe and non-threatening? Actually, that’s a great idea! Derek, if we survive this, we are going to the aquarium! And no one will be gutted, sliced, or diced. You hear me? Zero. Inside. Parts.”

Stiles dabbed at the wounds on Derek’s head gently, applying the butterfly band aids in a way he hoped was strategic and life-aiding instead of haphazard. He wrapped an ace bandage over the chunks of gauze he pressed onto the wounds and leaned back to examine his work. It wasn’t pretty, but it seemed effective which was good enough for Stiles.

Derek didn’t seem to have much of an opinion on it, either way.

Stiles scarfed a Cliff bar and sipped down half his CamelBak. Man, the Argents really had some cool shit. Next, he laid out every scrap of sodden clothing to dry next to the fire. The briefs he was wearing were finally dry so Stiles unzipped the sleeping bag and snapped it open to lay flat on the tarp. He swallowed nervously. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already slept with Derek—Platonically!

“Totally platonically!” Stiles yelped out loud, before covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God, I’m justifying sharing sleeping space with Derek out loud. To myself. _While he is unconscious at my feet in The Middle of Nowhere Forest._ ”

Shaking his head, Stiles dragged Derek carefully onto one half of the sleeping bag and turned him onto his left side. It was awkward and confusing, issues like “Where should I put his left arm so that it’s most comfortable?” and “I wonder if this is hurting him more…” and “Can unconscious people hit REM cycle?” arose one after another until Stiles just ignored them all and plopped down behind Derek with a sense of finality. Licking his lips nervously, Stiles wiggled forward to, well, spoon up against Derek’s back.

He reached back to pull the other half of the sleeping back over them both as far as it would reach. If Stiles tangled his legs with Derek’s and held the edge clenched in his hand, it covered half of Derek’s body. Since Derek was getting a full-frontal of heat from the fire, Stiles figured that was okay.

Stiles tucked his face into the tender crook of Derek’s shoulder and neck and just breathed. Derek smelled like clean spring water and the coppery tang of blood; Stiles reflexively tightened his arm around the other man and pressed closer. Even an Alpha wouldn’t have survived a giant boulder smashing his skull into a hundred fragments and a pulpy soup of brain matter.

“You big damn hero,” Stiles muttered shakily into Derek’s clammy, damp skin.

+++

They had turned back some time ago, their phones dead and dusk fading fast having been their signs to return. Scott eyed the lean lines of Mr. Ar-- _Chris’s_ \- back. He couldn’t help but admire the smooth, almost liquid way the man moved across the rough terrain. The effortless roll of his gait left only the faintest of sounds; Scott was sure that, if he were still human, the hunter’s footfalls wouldn’t register at all.

Scott took a moment to appreciate his luck at still being alive. God knows that when he’d first been turned he was less than circumspect; easy pickings for an experienced hunter like Chris.

“Something on your mind, Scott?” Chris drawled without missing a step. Scott swallowed down his surprised squeak and gave himself a mental shake. The man had eyes in the back of his head. How could you combat that?

“Uh, no?” he replied without much conviction. “Well, not really. Just—you could have killed me like, I dunno, a hundred times after I was first turned, couldn’t you?”

His head cocked curiously at the muffled huff of amusement from Chris.

“Yes, Scott. You weren’t exactly difficult prey at the time,” the hunter explained. “You were just some dumb kid who had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, considering your True Alpha potential… the right place at the right time,” Chris shrugged.

“Yeah, well, me being a kid hasn’t really influenced all that many hunters _not_ to try and cut me in half, so,” Scott trailed off, uncertain of his own point. “I dunno, I guess I’m just trying to understand how you and the rest of your family are so different. The Code didn’t exactly stop them,” he blurted out. And great, awesome. This is how he was going to bite it: Offed in the middle of nowhere by the only decent hunter he’d ever met because Scott was genetically predisposed to _having no verbal filter_. It was a sickness; he just couldn’t keep his big, stupid mouth shut.

Chris turned his gaze back to Scott, staring at him eerily over one shoulder. “I live by the Code. I was raised by it and I’ll die by it. It’s easy for a hunter to lose his way, to hate everything that goes thump in the dark, but—“ Chris shrugged almost helplessly, “If we do that, then _we_ become the mad dog ourselves. I used to chafe under the restrictions of the Code. I didn’t see the point in waiting ‘till _after_ some werewolf decided to disembowel some poor, clueless civilian… I wanted pre-emptive judgment. I wanted absolutes.”

Scott realized belatedly that they’d both stopped; some unspoken agreement had made them pause in what Scott recognized to be a small clearing. Chris turned to face him with pale eyes that seemed almost pained in the dim, forested gloom. A feeling of uncomfortable awareness spiked through Scott; he was seeing something few others had been privileged to witness before: Chris Argent being uncertain.

“But then you met me,” Scott ventured carefully, voice barely a murmur. This moment felt almost sacred; he didn’t want to ruin it, was desperate not to do so. “Right?”

“I still wanted to kill you,” Chris replied, almost like a confession. “I was just waiting for an excuse. _Any_ excuse,” he emphasized. “But my daughter has always, always come first. Allison is everything to me; has been ever since the minute I held her in the delivery room… tiny and red-faced, screaming bloody murder,” Chris allowed himself a tiny half-grin.

“I get that,” Scott said quietly. He lifted his chin slightly to meet Chris’s gaze directly. “I know you think I’m just some dumb kid, but—the way you feel? Like she’s everything? That’s… it’s the truth. For me.”

Scott was shocked when the man simply nodded in return.

“I know,” Chris replied. “Only someone who cared about her that much would let her go the way you have.”

Feeling overwhelmed, Scott cut his gaze down and away to stare at the loam of the forest floor. He swallowed roughly, eyes clouding momentarily before he was able to rein the emotions in and bury them deep. How strange was it that he had earned Chris’s respect not by staying at his daughter’s side without fail, but by leaving it vacant?

Love, Scott concluded wryly, was freaking ridiculous.

“I guess that’s why you haven’t tried harder to keep her from hunting, huh?” Scott finally responded roughly.

“What can I say?” Chris answered on a sigh, shrugging resignedly. “She takes after her father.”

Before Scott could do more than chuckle appreciatively, his walkie let out a sharp burst of static. Lydia’s voice crackled over the channel, crisp with purpose and Scott felt his stomach clench as he listened.

_“Scott, we need you to take a detour. Stiles and Derek haven’t reported in. Get a pen ready… I’m giving you the coordinates now.”_

“Yeah, okay, shit just give me a sec,” Scott babbled into the mic, free hand fumbling for a pen out of his cargo pocket. He dropped it, swearing briefly. Stiles was in trouble and he couldn’t even hold onto a freaking pen. “Hang on, I dropped it—“ he reported, bending down to scoop it up from the leafy ground. The pen was sticking up oddly at an angle and Scott eyed it curiously. Was it— sinking? “What the hell…?” Scott muttered.

 _”Scott! How long does it take you to find a pen!_ ” Lydia’s voice squawked from the walkie irritatedly.

“Oh, shit,” Chris said matter-of-factly. Scott snapped his gaze over just in time to see Chris struggle to lift either of his booted feet, which prompted Scott to do the same. They were both unsuccessful. “You should probably tell Lydia that we have a bit of a problem. We’re standing in a slime pit.”

 _”A what!?”_ Lydia asked scathingly after Scott had relayed this information obediently. _“How in the—“_ Scott heard the murmur of voices discussing something urgently followed by Lydia’s, “ _Oh, shit_.”

Scott peered down at his feet, numbly registering the crud rising in a steady creep over his shoes. In a few minutes it would be past his ankles. Internally, Scott was aware that he was freaking the hell out; terrified out of his mind, actually. This wasn’t something he could just fight and overwhelm with his werewolf strength.

“Uh, Chris…” Scott began, voice only faintly nervous. They were going to suffocate.

“Yes, Scott?” Chris replied, already digging into his pack, struggling to perch it on one bent knee without dropping it into the muck.

“On a scale of one to ten how fucked are we?” Scott asked ruefully.

“It goes to eleven,” Chris quipped back, still digging with efficient purpose. He looked up when Scott didn’t respond; the teenager was staring at him blankly. “…And you’ve never seen Spinal Tap,” Chris concluded with a little nod. “I’m officially too old to be cool.”

Scott _did_ laugh then; the unexpected warmth of it gave him the strength to key the channel and report to Lydia.

“Guys, we’re kind of… stuck, at the moment,” Scott relayed. “We have maybe fifteen minutes till we’re neck deep in trouble. Kind of literally.”

 _The twins are on their way,”_ Lydia’s voice crackled back, tone reassuring. _“Danny is headed back to base on his own; he’s not fast enough to keep up and well, right now is not a good time to be alone in the forest._

“What the hell is going on?” Scott asked. He wasn’t the sharpest fork in the drawer, but even he could tell that Lydia was holding back something.

 _”Scott,”_ Deaton’s smooth, calming voice answered. “ _We believe the Durach has set up a system of magical trip-wires, so to speak. I can feel them when they’re released. Stiles and Derek failed to report back just after a wave of energy was pushed through the ley lines. I can only assume that these are meant to deter us._ ”

“And by ‘deter’ you mean kill,” Scott replied stiffly.

There was a long silence filled only with the faint hum of static.

 _”Yes,”_ Deaton finally replied.

Scott looked up to meet Chris’s solemn gaze across the clearing.

“Worth a shot, right?” Chris grinned wryly at Scott and held up a bundle of rope.

+++

Allison and Isaac entered the camp just as Deaton handed the walkie back to Lydia. Not for the first time, Lydia reflected on what an attractive pair the two made with their fine, delicate features and slender frames. And their mutual affection for a shaggy-haired, slightly goofy kid named Scott. She shook her head to herself ruefully; they were not going to take this well.

Allison slung her pack onto the ground tiredly, scanning the area almost absently; it was clear that the action was cursory, a standard practice from her hunter training. “Where is everyone?” she asked curiously. “I didn’t expect us to be the first pair back.”

Isaac shifted closer to her, brushing shoulder to shoulder as he took in Lydia and Deaton’s body language with a wary expression. “…Something isn’t right,” he concluded quietly, mouth tugged down at the corners into a sharp frown.

Allison froze stiffly next to him.

Lydia sighed tiredly. “We have a problem,” was her reply. Lydia shook her curls back over one shoulder; a nervous habit that she didn’t bother to repress. “It seems like Blake was expecting us.”

“Where is my Dad, Lydia,” Allison demanded, doe-like eyes narrowing into impatient slits.

“And Scott,” Isaac added, his voice a faint growl that filled the air of the clearing with a sense of warning.

“They’ve fallen prey to one of the Durach’s traps,” Deaton stepped between Lydia and her best friend warily. “Let me explain,” he began, eyeing Isaac with approval as the teen reached blindly to squeeze Allison’s slender hand in his own.

+++

The twins raced through the brush, their long, loping movements synchronous and unfaltering. Their senses were keyed to any sound of the missing pair, urgency fueling their movements. The pair had hardly slept in the past forty-eight hours, but it was an unspoken agreement between them that their best hope for atoning for their previous alliance would be to save Argent and Scott.

Ethan’s thoughts wandered to Danny briefly and he felt an answering tug from Aiden as the thought prompted his own feelings for Lydia to surface. The young Alpha reflected on how idiotic it had been of him to assume that the brothers would be able to sacrifice their targets as easily as Deucalion demanded of them. Aiden had always been the more pragmatic of their pair; Ethan wryly thought to himself that it was by appealing to this aspect of his twin’s nature that he had even been able to convince Aiden to part ways with the Alpha Pack.

 _If we can’t save them… we’ll be Omega_ s, Ethan thought bleakly as he leapt over the huge trunk of a felled oak. Aiden howled at the press of Ethan’s despair against their bond and the twins increased their pace in wordless agreement.

+++

Scott tried to ignore the unrelenting, crushing weight of the surrounding muck; his chest struggled to expand and he was close to panting from sheer panic. The entire experience was dredging up memories of a lifetime of asthma attacks and it was dizzying. Noticing his panic, Chris whistled sharply to catch the teenager’s attention.

“Scott!” he snapped brusquely. “I need you to focus. Keep your arms up and your body still. The more you panic, the faster you’ll sink.”

Scott nodded gingerly in response. “This really sucks,” he said bluntly. Carefully, he hitched the looped rope that crossed his shoulders higher, as far as he could get it from the sucking ooze. Chris’s unrelenting grip maintained the rope’s tautness. In a few minutes it would be Scott’s turn to pull; they were using all their might against the equal strength of the pits to maintain their current level as much as possible.

It wasn’t a solution that could save them, but it had bought them at least twice as much time as they’d had previously. Initially, he and Chris had tried to snag the rope onto a low-hanging branch or stump, but they were simply all too far away. This was the best the pair could manage for the time.

Hopefully, it would be enough.

“They’re coming,” Scott whispered to himself, feeling more helpless than he had in a very, very long time. It felt like a vise was tightening around his chest and Scott stifled a whine. “They’re coming; they’re coming, totally on their way…”

“The transmitter should lead them right to us,” Chris said, drowning out Scott’s mantra, his implacable voice almost soothingly. “We just have to be patient. It's your turn to pull, Scott.”

And with nothing else to do but trust the hunter, Scott pulled with all his strength. He prayed it would be enough.


	8. Lost But Not All Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't get rid of you  
> I don't know what to do  
> I don't even know who is growing on who  
> 'cos everywhere I go you're there  
> Can't get you out of my hair  
> Can't pretend that I don't care - it's not fair  
> I'm being punished for all my offences
> 
> Growing On Me - The Darkness

He was falling backward into a body of water. Not frigid like he’d expected, but warm; the slick lukewarm slide of a tepid bath enveloped him and Stiles shied away instinctively. Though his eyes were open, he saw nothing but blackness, inky and almost tangible. There were no starbursts of random color, no matter how hard he squeezed them shut or how wide he forced them to open.

There was no up; there was no down; there was nothing solid.

It was free-fall and it was terrifying. Stiles knew, he _knew_ there was ground underneath him, a sleeping bag and a star-studded night sky. Bile rose in his chest to choke him and Stiles tried in vain to scream.

Suddenly, it was as if a lightning bolt arced across his vision. The world exploded in a burst of white, then faded back to darkness. Pain lanced through his head and Stiles finally, _finally_ felt the welcome press of the sleeping bag against his back, sticky with the damp of his sweat. There was a furnace against his chest and just as Stiles was prying his eyes open the lightning struck again and he jerked back with a yell.

“You hit _Stiles_?”

“What? No, of course not!”

Stiles brought a hand up to rub across his forehead wearily, grateful for the feel of his own skin. “Just once, I’d really like to wake up in a _good_ way,” he complained, squinting his eyes open warily. The pale light of dawn struck his brain like a thousand daggers and Stiles groaned.

“Uh, dude,” Danny’s concerned and slightly amused if uncomfortable expression clarified in Stiles’ line of sight. “You might want to consider that idea when you two don’t have an audience.”

“Who punched me?” Derek asked flatly, expression baleful.

Derek.

Stiles wheezed a little and pretty much twirled in midair atop the sleeping bag to stare at Derek’s sleep-swollen face. His left cheek was stained with a bruise that was fading right under Stiles's shocked stare. Derek rolled his neck with a grimace, cracking it before reaching up to tear off the bandages that circled his head.

Stiles was suddenly and intensely reminded just how little he was wearing.  And in conjunction: Derek.

“Uh,” Stiles tried not to squeak, honest. He finally tore his eyes away from the messy tousle of Derek’s dark hair and the dried blood crusted by his ear. For some reason all Stiles could think was how endearing Derek looked with his hair half-flattened and the rest doing a decent impression of a hedgehog. Stiles stared up at Danny imploringly, “Would you believe me if I said it was a Cuddle or Die situation? I really need you to support me on this, Danny. I know I said I’d go gay for you, but Derek wasn’t even on the list at the time.”

“At the time?” echoed Ethan with a distinctly sardonic expression.

“There’s a list?” Danny was quick to add.

“But who punched me?” Derek repeated plaintively while probing his cheek with a doubtful expression. “Someone did punch me, right?”

“Uh, I think it was a boulder, dude,” Stiles shrugged apologetically.

“No, it was me,” Ethan corrected impassively. “You were stuck in some kind of nightmare cycle. You,” he pointed at Stiles then, “were along for the ride somehow. I don’t know why. Derek wasn’t using his claws, I know that for sure.”

“We tried to shake you both awake, but…” Danny trailed off and spread his hands in the universal gesture for ‘what can you do, bro’; Stiles huffed a laugh and Danny winked at him. “So, Ethan kind of punched Derek in the face and you both woke up.”

“Lightning,” Stiles muttered, reaching up to feel his own cheek gingerly. “Never strikes twice.”

Derek looked over at him quizzically, “You make no sense when you first wake up, do you?”

“He makes no sense ever,” quipped Danny, deadpan.

“Fuck you,” Stiles groaned, flipping Danny off with a roll of his eyes.

“I think what Stiles is trying to say is: Thank you, guys! I really appreciate you coming to find our sorry asses… how can I repay you?” Danny rolled his eyes right back at Stiles, throwing a bundle of clothes at the other teen’s head. “Get dressed, Stilinski; we have problems.”

Stiles was navigating putting his head through the neck of his t-shirt when Danny’s words clicked. “Problems? As in an implication that we have _new_ problems? As in _more_ problems?,” he squawked. He glared almost indignantly at Danny and Ethan, finally popping his head through the too-small shirt. The too-small shirt that apparently had a Hello Kitty face smack in the middle of it. “And whose _is_ this, anyway? Where the hell is my shirt?”

“I’m wearing it… I think,” Derek frowned slightly, picking at the fabric of the tightly stretched shirt crossing his chest. His face was still dopey with sleep and Stiles smiled a little. Morning Derek, Stiles was realizing, was his favorite flavor of Derek. “The Who, huh? Cool.”

Still not exactly chatty, but by far the most endearing.

“It’s mine,” Allison answered smoothly, steel in her eyes. Stiles swore she materialized out of thin air from behind a sapling. She was slender, but there was just no way that was in the realm of human. God, she was scary sometimes. “I wear it to sleep in so it’s the closest thing I have that would fit you. You could always play for team Skins if it’s a problem.”

“Uh, no,” Stiles stammered, clutching the sleeping bag over his still distressingly pants-free body. “Can you— uh. Yeah, the turning around thing, _thank you_.” He practically jumped into his jeans.

“It’s a good thing I keep a pair of gym shorts in my bag at all times,” Danny remarked, eyeing Derek speculatively. “Otherwise, you’d be rocking a sleeping bag toga all the way through the Big Boss Battle.”

Stiles wasn’t sure who looked more absurd: himself in the Hello Kitty baby-doll tee and jeans or Derek squeezed into his “The Who” shirt and Danny’s baggy gym shorts. At least they both still had their own shoes. Blessed was the foresight of having hung them around their necks, he supposed wryly.

“Believe it or not, I’ve had shittier options,” Derek sighed in a resigned sort of way. The bruise on his cheek had completely faded away and Stiles felt a curious little jolt run through him; a faint reminder of the shock of Derek’s pain. Derek’s pain in _his_ head. “Being a werewolf isn’t exactly wardrobe friendly. Or convenient.”

“Understatement,” Stiles muttered distractedly, still processing the conjoined dream… thing. Mind-meld? Witchy wackiness? Whatever it was, clearly, Stiles would have to freak out about it later because Allison had turned to face them then with an impatient tilt to her mouth.

“Now that you’re both decent,” she opened with a faint air of annoyance. “We can fill you in on the past few hours. You weren’t the only ones attacked--”

“Whoa, wait,” Stiles sputtered incredulously. “Attacked? By what… the _cliff_?”

“By the _Darach_ ,” Ethan answered with a scowl.

“The telluric lines, Stiles,” Danny added in what he probably thought was a helpful manner. Stiles glanced over at Derek to see an expression of intense confusion that echoed his own on the man’s angular face. Somehow, he found it reassuring. “She’s manipulating the currents somehow, altering the landscape and causing instabilities that are ‘keyed’ to recognize supernatural energy. When something with the right signature gets close...”

“And we’re guessing that signature is werewolves,” Derek grimaced, running a hand over his face roughly.

“Maybe not just wolves, but yeah, a wolf was at each attack point, so right now it’s a pretty safe bet that the common denominator is you guys,” Danny replied, sounding almost apologetic. “One of you gets close and boom! Giant rockslide or crazy super pits and who knows what else.”

“Super pits? What the hell is that?” Stiles echoed. His stomach swooped suddenly from panic. “Who else was attacked?”

“Scott and my dad,” Allison answered, quietly. Stiles understood now why she was so _intent_ ; her slender body taut like one of her bowstrings. She was a weapon at rest, just waiting for the right moment to be released. “They were trapped in these giant pits, like quicksand only with decayed vegetation instead of sand. I guess they pop up in California under the right conditions, but these were… unnatural.”

“Ethan and his brother tried to help them escape, but she was too strong,” Danny continued, face somber.

Stiles reeled for a moment, his world tilting on its axis. _Scott_.

“Scott’s alive! He’s hurt, but he’s alive,” Allison blurted, hastening to reassure him and Stiles immediately felt less like he was going to fall over. Then he watched Allison’s face just... crumple. “But Stiles, my dad… my dad’s been taken.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles muttered, stepping forward to hug Allison awkwardly. She was stiff and unyielding in the circle of his arms for a long moment before. Stiles could feel the moment she relented, finally resting her forehead onto his shoulder with an exhausted exhale. He felt himself shut down, crippling fear gripping his vocal cords and stifling the breath in his chest.

How much worse could this get?

“Was she alone?” Derek asked Ethan. His face was pale and taut, distress rolling off him in waves. Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously. What was Derek guessing at?

“No,” the young Alpha replied, the faint rumble of a growl punctuating his words. “Peter was with her.”

“ _No_ ,” Derek rocked back as if Ethan had taken a swing at him. “He’s at the hospital with Cora.”

“He gutted Scott with a smile,” Ethan countered coldly. “Peter watched while the Darach snapped my brother’s neck.”

“Considering what you two did to Boyd, I’m finding it hard to blame him for that,” Derek snapped back, eyes blazing with anger.

Ethan roared his outrage and crouched low, “You _know_ that wasn’t what we wanted!”

“Don’t talk to me about what you _wanted_!” Derek snarled. “I own up to my choices! What, you think that just because you’re a teenager that you’re blameless?”

Ethan’s snarl dissolved into shock and his voice was strained when he spoke, “What do you want me to do, Derek? Beg?”

“And you call yourself an Alpha,” Derek sneered. “ _You_ take responsibility for what you’ve done. That’s what you do to make it right.”

“Aiden almost died trying to make it right,” Danny interjected calmly. “This pissing contest you two are having isn’t solving anything.”

Derek and Ethan had the presence of mind to look mollified and each jerked their gazes away with a huff. It was both hilarious and horrifying; if Stiles wasn’t concerned with a bloody death by mangling, he would point it out to the two Alphas. _Maybe later_ , he concluded wisely.

“We need to get back to the camp and regroup,” Allison agreed, pulling away from Stiles. He’d forgotten she was there until her slight weight leaning against him was suddenly gone. She visibly drew herself up and pulled a steady hand through her wild curls, body settling into the practiced poise of a hunter once more. “We’re all exhausted. If we’re going to find our dads, we need to rest and get a decent meal. We still have two days.”

At the mere mention of food Stiles’s stomach rumbled in interest. He felt his face flush lightly and grinned sheepishly, hand coming up to grip at his nape automatically. Ducking his head, he joked, “Well, obviously I’m in agreement, so… onward MacWolf!”

“It’s ‘lead on’,” Derek scoffed, rolling his eyes. Stiles felt a burst of fondness suffuse his chest and he shrugged dismissively at Derek.

“Nerd,” Stiles sing-songed, reaching up daringly to ruffle Derek’s still mussed bedhead as walked past to begin rolling the sleeping bag. “Make yourself useful and fold up the tarp, will ya?”

He ducked Derek’s half-hearted swing with a snicker and bent to his task. Just ten minutes later their rag-tag group was on its way. Their collective mood became more somber with every step and Stiles found himself naturally gravitating towards Derek the further they trekked. He was painfully aware of Derek’s shame and guilt worn by the man like a cross. Peter’s betrayal was just one of the same in a long, long line of offenses, but it didn’t make the cut any less painful.

Stiles couldn’t stifle the creeping feeling that this was just the beginning.

He simply put one aching foot in front of the other.

What else could he do?

 


	9. Apply Some Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you lose some pressure?  
> Apply some pressure!
> 
> You know that I would love to see you next,  
> I hope that I will live until next year!
> 
> Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park

Stiles didn’t know what he was expecting to see when their group returned back to camp. Whatever he might have imagined couldn’t have come close to the terror of the real thing and Stiles? Stiles had a penchant for drumming up horror out of nothing, so that was saying a lot. Absently, he noted the heat of Derek’s body radiating next to his; they had ended up shoulder to shoulder, a position that had become almost routine for them now.

What was _not_ routine was the aching of Stiles’s skull and the claustrophobic press of Derek’s feelings in his own chest. Derek’s distress and guilt was an annoying static-y hum reverberating in his head. It had been there since they’d both been so rudely awakened hours earlier, but now it was unrelenting and increasing in frequency. The hum reached a crescendo when Allison bolted ahead of them the last hundred yards, her slight form weaving through the brush deftly.

Derek had upgraded his obsessive circle of distress and guilt right to dread and it hit Stiles like a sledgehammer.

 _He gutted Scott with a smile_.

Stiles bent over, jerking to a halt as he tried not to hurl what little food he had in his stomach. Ethan’s words jeered on repeat in his brain and Stiles thought, _Derek is right to dread walking into that camp. I do_.

Instantly, Derek’s palm closed around his shoulder and just as suddenly the deafening, inescapable overload of the wolf’s feelings dulled to a faint whisper. Stiles breathed a shaky gasp of relief and reached out blindly to grip something, anything in order to steady himself; Derek’s hip.

He felt rather than saw Derek wave Ethan and Danny past, telling them to keep going; that he had Stiles.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was a low murmur and Stiles felt him shift into a smooth crouch. Stiles opened eyes that he hadn’t realized were squeezed tightly shut and Derek’s pale, angular face focused into view. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet all morning,” said Derek. 

How had Stiles ever thought Derek was a stoic wolf-bot? Now, Stiles could clearly see the emotions flitting across his face, the echo resonating through his whole body: worry, fear, confusion, doubt, guilt and barely contained rage. Hurt.

“I don’t really know,” admitted Stiles. “It’s like… I can, read you? You know? Like I have a mood ring or decoder ring or whatever, for _you_. Up here,” Stiles clarified, tapping at his own temple lightly.

Derek’s eyes widened in shock and Stiles tried not to be hurt by the instantaneous shift of his body back; away from Stiles. For someone as intensely private as Derek, this news must be pretty horrifying. 

“I know I’m probably the last person you’d want to have this… whatever this is, but dude, I promise—I _swear_ I won’t use it to—“

“What? To manipulate me?” Derek’s expression shuttered right before his eyes and Stiles winced. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fair enough. I can let that slide given how the past few weeks, well, years really, have gone for you. But I mean it, Derek,” replied Stiles. He clenched Derek’s hip tightly, fighting the slick fabric of Danny’s gym shorts. “Besides, I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better about this,” Derek snipped and Stiles smiled in relief. Bitchy Derek was a good thing. Normal, at least.

“Whatever, I’m the one who has your repressed feelings blasting his brain into submission,” Stiles countered. “And dude, have you _met_ you? Repression is like your code of conduct.”

“…yup, you’re fine,” Derek abandoned his side and Stiles fell over onto the soft loam with a yelp.

“Repress or die, Derek!” he shouted after the man. “We could make t-shirts!”

+++

All of the hard-won good humor faded from Stiles when he laid eyes on Scott.

_Jesus._

Allison hadn’t lied to him: his best friend wasn’t dead… but Stiles could see that a ‘yet’ tacked to the end of that statement would have been more truthful. His gorge rose as Stiles realized the thin, damp square of gauze was the only thing between his gaze and Scott’s intestines. Perched on two camping chairs next to Scott’s small cot were Allison and Isaac.

The scene reminded Stiles too much of a vigil. Too much of a stale hospital waiting room and battered plastic chairs.

The stench of blood and fear permeated his senses and very quickly everything became so _small_. While Stiles had rarely felt comfortable in his own body, he wasn’t usually in the position of loathing it. Now, he felt as if his skin was stretched too taut over his flesh, his bones ached with restless energy and Scott’s unusually pale, still form swam in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” croaked Stiles. “Why isn’t he healing? Peter’s just a _beta_!”

Isaac’s red-rimmed eyes rose to meet his tiredly. “Peter’s claws were laced with mistletoe and wolfsbane. Deaton says Scott is healing, but it’s slow and painful,” he replied, voice barely a whisper. “And there’s ‘no guarantee’.”

Allison rested her dark head on Isaac’s shoulder and his body curved towards hers instinctively. They were clasping Scott’s bloodied and torn hand between them; Scott had clearly put up a fight.

But Scott was dying anyway.

“No, fuck this,” Stiles snarled, whirling to push his way out of the tent with clumsy limbs. The ground rolled uncertainly beneath his feet and Stiles staggered, gaining just enough balance to weave himself over to a nearby conifer and clutch at it. His dad; Scott; Argent.

_…in the end you don't prevent murders, you just find the bodies._

Stiles gasped. Air pushed from his chest explosively, leaving nothing but a knotted void in its wake. Panic wove its way through each of his ribs, tightening like the turn of a slow, inevitable vise. Vaguely, he registered falling to his knees, the pain a distant prick. It took all of his strength, but he managed to turn and rest his back against the solid presence of the tree.

The world around him spun in a disjointed kaleidoscope of greenery and perfect blue skies and Stiles spun with it.

Suddenly, a curtain of red surrounded him, blocking out everything else and Stiles raised his eyes, still gasping pitifully. Lydia. No, no… Lydia couldn’t see him like this. Beneath the panic, shame burned through Stiles and he tried to turn away, but Lydia’s small hands cupped his face with surprising strength.

“Stiles,” she said, voice wavering but stern. “I need you to focus.”

“P-panic… _attack_ ,” Stiles managed to grit out. Tears of terror, frustration and shame pricked at the corners of his eyes and Stiles tried to turn away again. 

Lydia wasn’t having it. “ _Look_ at me, Stiles,” she snapped, not unkindly. “Breathe with me… c’mon, I know you can.”

“C-can’t. ‘m trying,” Stiles stuttered, eyes darting everywhere and nowhere. There was a freaking elephant sitting on his chest and his sternum was cracking into a thousand pieces. Black spots sparked across his vision and he whimpered faintly. _Fuck_. “Hate this.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lydia agreed breathily and then the immense pressure of Stiles’s chest was secondary to the faint, delicate pressure of her soft lips against his. Stiles forgot to be panicked, forgot to be frustrated, forgot to pant erratically because _he wasn’t breathing_ from sheer surprise.

He stared into the green of Lydia’s widened eyes and Stiles couldn’t be ashamed about freaking out anymore because _Lydia Martin was kissing him_.

+++

“So, that was—smart,” Stiles muttered after Lydia had explained her knee-jerk ‘Kiss the Panic Away’ plan. His brain was still totally off-line and Stiles found himself struggling not to sound like a complete idiot. “You’re-- very smart. I mean, who thinks of that?”

Lydia just nods at him, eyes still wide and bright. Their faces were still mere inches apart and the tension was palpable. But it wasn’t the tension that Stiles had always hoped for.

“You know, I’ve been waiting almost ten years for you to do that and—“ Stiles rubs a shaky hand across his face ruefully, stuck on how to continue.

“And it was like kissing your sister,” Lydia finished for him wryly.

“Yeah!” Stiles waved his hands, astounded. “Well, I mean, not really since I don’t have a sister but if I _did_ I imagine that’s what it’d feel like to kiss her… not that I imagine having a sister and making out with her, that’s just—weird. And wrong. Wrong-weird.”

“Yup, you’re fine,” Lydia leaned back on her heels with a little disbelieving shake of her head. Her expression sobered quickly. “Stiles, I know I used to dismiss you and well, generally be a raging bitch, but. I care about you. You’re important to me.”

Swallowing past the lump rising in his throat, Stiles nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I get it. I always had you on this pedestal. And you’re still there, but just—Somehow in the past couple of months you’ve stopped being the object of my, uh… affections,” he felt himself flush at the misdirection that was clearly not working on Lydia. Too damn smart, man. “And became my co-conspirator or something. You’re like a chick version of Scott.”

Lydia scrunched up her nose disdainfully and Stiles huffed a laugh.

“Only sharper and with lots more flair,” he added with a grin.

“Damn right,” Lydia quirked an eyebrow at him smugly. “But speaking of your furrier half… Deaton says he has an idea about how to fix Scott.”

+++

When they arrived at the front of Deaton’s tent, Stiles wasn’t surprised to see Derek standing there with an irate expression on his angular face. What did surprise Stiles was the Alpha’s unwillingness to meet his eyes; Derek nodded at them, gaze fixed resolutely at the tree line behind Lydia and Stiles.

 _What the hell is he up to_ , wondered Stiles, fiddling with the taser on one wrist awkwardly. Categorically, Derek hiding things had never ended well for anyone. A small ember of anger began burning deep down in Stiles and he glared at the man, opening his mouth to berate him—

“Good, you’re both here,” Deaton interrupted Stiles’s unknowingly, pushing aside the flap of his tent to join them. Aidan and Ethan followed him with set expressions and Stiles forgot all about his frustration with Derek. 

“What is this?” he asked, crossing his arms. Stiles fought down a smile as he felt Lydia’s elbow brush his as she moved to mirror his stance. Totally bros.

“We have a plan to help Scott,” Deaton replied, raising one brow challengingly. “If you’d care to hear, that is.”

“It’s a shot in the dark, but it’s better than the alternative,” Derek added, still refusing to look at Stiles directly.

“Okay, it’s obviously dangerous or you guys wouldn’t be so grim right now,” Stiles spread his arms impatiently. “I guess it’s clear by my lack of witticisms right now that I’m interested in results and not bullshit. So out with it. Why are the twins involved?”

“Because only an Alpha can do this,” Aiden replied with a hint of his own irritation bleeding into his voice. “Derek wanted to be the one, but—“

“We need to prove ourselves still,” Ethan finished for his twin, meeting Stiles’s gaze evenly. “We tried to save Chris and Scott, but we failed. If someone’s going to take a risk to heal Scott, it should be one of us.”

“What kind of risk?” Lydia asked, frowning unhappily.

“There is a rumor,” Deaton began delicately. “That an Alpha can surrender his power to a Beta near death. This surge of supernatural strength will heal the injured Beta, but with the potential for great cost.”

“What, one of you is gonna try to pull some faith healer crap with Scott and be down for the count?” Stiles countered, brows knitting together curiously.

“Not exactly,” Aiden hedged, palming the back of his skull uncomfortably.

“We would be surrendering our Alpha power,” Ethan said bluntly. “Permanently.”

“And it could _kill_ you,” Derek gritted out, obvious disapproval flaring in his eyes. He visibly struggled with himself for a moment. “I’m not going to lie: most days I hate you both. But you’re just a couple of kids and this isn’t your pack.”

“It isn’t yours either,” Aiden shot back. 

“And you can’t have it both ways, Derek,” Ethan rolled his eyes at the bristling Alpha. “You told me that it’s our job as Alphas to take responsibility for our actions. Well,” the wolf spread his arms expansively. “This is it.”

Stiles gaped at Derek disbelievingly.

“You are seriously trying to take responsibility for Scott being hurt right now?” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Wow, man. Your martyr complex is just… who do you think you are? Werewolf Jesus? Can you walk on water and just haven’t shared with the class?”

“Peter did this to him!” Derek snarled, finally _looking_ at Stiles. “That makes him my responsibility!”

“Bullshit!” Stiles shouted, arms no longer crossed but rigid at his sides. “Peter is responsible for himself! You can’t own everyone else’s shit, Derek! I won’t let you!”

“It’s not your responsibility to ‘let’ me do anything!” Derek shouted back furiously.

Stiles just snorted and graced Derek with a disappointed look. “Yeah, it kinda is. That’s what friends _do_ , Derek. We call each other on our bullshit and right now? You’re full of it,” Stiles shrugged and crossed his arms again tiredly. “Peter may be your blood, but he’s never been your friend. Not really. He’s _always_ put his own agenda first. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

“It doesn’t matter what either of you think,” Ethan interjected impatiently. Derek and Stiles both turned to glare at him, offended. “We want Scott as our Alpha and if he dies, that clearly won’t happen. So one of us will heal him and we’ll have earned our place in the pack.”

“How will that even work?” Lydia asked, curiously. “With one of you as an Alpha and the other as a Beta, I mean.”

“Once we’re in Scott’s pack officially, I can surrender my status,” Ethan replied. “I can’t do it until I have another Alpha to answer to, which is why we have to heal him first. Once he matures into his role, I’ll give up my power.”

Lydia stared at Aiden, an expression of hurt displayed openly on her pretty face for a bare moment before it was masked underneath practiced indifference. The teenager took a half-step towards her. 

“Lydia,” Aidan began.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lydia said, cutting him off shortly. “You’ve clearly already made up your mind.” She turned and stalked towards Scott’s tent rigidly and the others stared after her with wary expressions.

“Dude,” Stiles said sympathetically, “I don’t even like you, but I feel sorry for you right now. You’re in deep shit.”

“You should have seen Danny’s reaction,” Aiden responded drily; his twin huffed a sound of pained agreement.

+++

After an extended argument about whether or not they could fit nine people and a cot into a four person tent, Allison finally lost her shit and declared that she was done with their pettiness and would drag Scott’s comatose body outside herself because obviously that was the most expedient option. To his credit, Isaac only looked smug for about five seconds at everyone else’s shamefaced expressions. Then he was too busy carrying the other end of Scott’s cot to look anything but endearingly focused.

The entire scene was like something out of an old Viking tale; Scott’s body was surrounded by a circle of tense, wan faces. Stiles was perturbed by the unbidden image of Scott laying on a funeral pyre rather than a fold-out cot. He shivered and pointedly avoided Derek’s gaze as the Alpha eyed him curiously. Leave it to Derek to notice Stiles’s discomfort. With an annoyed huff, Derek shifted to his side until they were once again pressing shoulder to shoulder.

“Idiot,” Derek muttered, almost sub-vocally.

“Pot,” Stiles couldn’t help but reply, “…meet kettle.”

The sun was shining, the sky was a clear perfect blue, the forest was verdant and full of life… and Stiles might lose his best friend forever in the next five minutes. Briefly, unexpectedly, a wave of utter disbelief struck him. Was it really such a short time ago that he was dangling upside-down over Scott’s porch, demanding an adventure with his best friend?

He’d always hated clichéd paternal life lessons, but the thought: _be careful what you wish for_ was the most apt summation of his life at this point. But maybe that’s just how it worked, Stiles mused. They had all lost so much, but maybe it would one day be worth all the miserable pain. He looked across the circle to watch Isaac and Allison clutch hands desperately; Danny with an arm around Ethan as the wolf grimly prepared himself to potentially lose his twin; Lydia staring at Aidan with a strained expression; Deaton standing, observing, his almost serene gaze directed at Scott.

With Derek standing at his side, Stiles watched as Aidan crouched next to Scott’s still form, laying a hand gingerly onto the other teenager’s left shoulder. Aidan breathed deeply, the air rattling nervously in his chest and then his eyes flared a bright, vivid red.

When he and Scott began screaming, howling in agony, Stiles snatched Derek’s hand at his and clenched it tightly, breath seizing in his chest. Stiles wasn’t one for prayer, but he found his thoughts organizing themselves into just one thought that looped into a continuous, desperate plea.

_Please, don’t take my brother from me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient with me as I free-form fall my way to a complete fic. I know the top says ten chapters, but it will most likely be at least twelve. We are arriving at the climax and it will be, as they say, "a dosey". Please keep in mind that this is the first of a three-part series.
> 
> You guys continue to rock. <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the crown on my head is heavy on me  
> they wouldn't know it cos they don't wanna see  
> the skin on my face is growing bright pink  
> as i walk by, the girl's choir whispering"
> 
> out of the wilderness - cold war kids

After the most intense sixty seconds of Stiles’s life, Aiden toppled over, releasing Scott’s shoulder in an obvious display of complete unconsciousness. Ethan was there to catch him, abandoning Danny’s side instantly. For his part, Danny rushed forward to hold Lydia who looked more distraught than Stiles would have ever assumed. 

All of this happened in moments that were ultimately inconsequential. They were nothing but peripheral because Stiles was staring down at Scott, arm shaking from the tension of his uncompromising grip on Derek’s hand. His best friend still looked wrecked, but his previously ashen skin looked golden again, flushed with life. Allison’s pale hand was striking in contrast as she stepped forward to caress his cheek hesitantly, Isaac a worried shadow at her shoulder.

“Scott?” she asked hopefully.

The myriad of angry scratches and gouges up and down Scott’s arms melted away slowly. Stiles didn’t breathe.

“Mm?” Scott groaned, brown eyes opening and Stile’s heaved out a gasp that felt as if it had been punched right out of his gut. Scott was awake! He was okay! He was gazing at Allison with that stupid love-doped expression and finally something was going _right_. “Hey, baby. ‘S wrong?” Scott frowned sweetly, reaching to cup Allison’s hand against his own cheek.

“You almost—“ Stiles choked out one word before his throat closed down indefinitely. Scott immediately turned to look for his best friend, frowning in earnest confusion now.

“Dude, why are you wearing my girlfriend’s Hello Kitty sleep shirt?”

Stiles gaped incredulously, “ _Really_? That’s your first observation here?! Obviously, while you were playing opossum she and I did the nasty. I wanted to keep a piece of her close forever and ever.”

“And you’ve already moved onto holding Derek’s hand? Cold man…” Scott grinned up at him and Stiles sputtered.

“Cousins, totally _cousins_ ,” snickered Danny. 

+++

Scott took everything in stride, his face solemn and thoughtful. He was still weak, but getting stronger every passing minute. Their ragtag group was beyond exhausted but Scott’s recovery had given them hope. With just a few more hours of sunlight left everyone’s focus turned to taking care of business: gathering wood for a fire, bathing in the frigid creek a few hundred yards away, and cobbling together a hot meal.

“We need to be on top of our game tomorrow,” Scott said with quiet firmness. “We’ve hit half of our grids already and I think even three teams is out of the question now.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lydia, patiently combing through the tangled mess of her damp hair. Aiden’s head rested in her lap as he dozed, exhausted but well on the way to recovering his own strength. “It’s either two teams or none. Splitting up isn’t going to work.”

“Both ideas have merit, but I believe having a contingency team is most important. We don’t have much to our advantage other than allowing them to perceive us to be weaker than we actually are,” Deaton mused thoughtfully. “To their knowledge, Scott is dead and Aiden as well. They’ll be expecting Stiles and Allison to go in.”

“And me,” Derek added quietly.

Deaton gave Derek a small nod of agreement, “Yes, you have personal… feelings at stake here. As much as these two, to be sure.”

“So where does that leave us?” Isaac gestured to himself and Lydia widely. “What, we don’t have a stake here?”

“Not family,” Stiles said bluntly. 

Isaac bristled in response, “You have a pretty archaic understanding of family if you believe that.”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles scoffed. “My family isn’t exactly the Brady Bunch okay? I have my dad and Scott and Mrs. McCall, alright? I’m saying _they_ don’t see that. To the Durach and Peter, you’re just a teenager looking for a home.”

“And this one is pretty wrecked,” Allison agreed ruefully. Isaac visibly restrained himself from retorting and merely shook his head.

“So we’re looking at one search team with the other trailing a safe distance behind as backup?” Stiles asked, drawing the conversation back on track by sheer force of will. 

“Too time consuming,” Derek shook his head. “It needs to be just wolves, shifted. We’ll fan out and listen for the transmitter. When we find it, we’ll radio back. If that fails, we’ll howl.”

“And the rest of us will be ready to go. Long range weapons hang back to provide cover; Stiles, Danny, and Deaton coming in from different sides with distractions. We have flash bombs and smokers in the trunk,” Allison nodded to herself determinedly.

“Two Alphas, two Betas and five humans against one juiced up Darach and a rogue Beta?” Stiles frowned exaggeratedly. “Sounds like a cake walk to me.”

+++

In the past year Stiles had achieved quite the perspective change. He and Scott were no longer the center of each other’s world. As someone who had never been very good or gracious about sharing _anything_ , Stiles hadn’t exactly taken that shift in stride. He knew that the way he’d reacted was asinine, but at the same time… it hurt. Looking around the campsite and seeing everyone in subtle but clearly delineated pairs only emphasized his sense of loneliness.

It didn’t strike him with much force very often, but when it did—God, was it vicious.

If Stiles analyzed it, he wasn’t even sure _what_ he wanted. A very strong part of him simply wanted to be left alone, to nurse his fear and anxiety about his dad and their impending confrontation without any audience. One the other end of the spectrum, but just as acute was the desire for someone to just… hold him. The thought made him squirm internally with embarrassment. He wasn’t some macho jerk, but the idea of surrendering the hard-won ability to keep his ever-present anxiety from interfering wasn’t something Stiles was too keen about.

Scott growing up and finding Allison (and Isaac?) was the beginning of Stiles’s own growth; his independence from always _needing_.

Maybe he was just too broken. Maybe he would always feel this way, bereft and aching for someone to soothe the sharp spikes of his damaged psyche. 

“Cos that’s gonna happen, Stilinski,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a total catch. Got ‘em lined up around the block for a piece of your neurotic, scrawny ass.”

A faint snort startled him from his introspection and Stiles yelped.

“You just wait,” Derek grinned wryly at him, sidling up to plop onto the grass next to Stiles. “College is a whole new world. Everyone’s a basket-case there.”

“Gee, thanks for that encouraging gem,” Stiles quipped weakly. “You could be a motivational speaker, Derek, no, really.”

Derek leveled that unnerving gaze on him, “Seriously, Stiles. You’re underappreciated now because for whatever evolutional reason, teenagers are idiots. Incomprehensible, self-absorbed, and just plain stupid,” Derek grinned then with a little shrug. “Mostly. There are exceptions.”

“Well, tell me how you really feel,” Stiles gaped. He still wasn’t used to Derek actually _sharing_.

“Stiles,” Derek sighed. “Do you remember when you asked me how I didn’t punch you the first time we met? When you were looking for Laura?”

Stiles nodded dumbly, “Yeah, I uh, well—we were stupid.”

“No,” Derek smiled faintly, eyes a strange blend of sad fondness. “You were _young_. And I don’t mean biologically. You’d suffered, both of you, but you hadn’t seen true cruelty. Hadn’t been exposed to the depths human beings are capable of lowering themselves to.”

“So what you’re saying is that I was naïve.”

“Basically,” Derek shrugged. “Not that I’m trying to say your teenage angst is invalid.”

Stiles swallowed hard, plucking the grass idly with his long fingers, “I didn’t belong, fit—I was never comfortable with other kids. I was too _much_ , y’know?” He looked up at Derek furtively. How was he supposed to explain to a guy like _Derek_ what it was like to be _him_? “Like, I could never sit still and half the time I was off on ten different tangents that no one seemed to understand. Scott, believe it or not? The reason we’re best friends is pretty simple: he just didn’t care. He never cared that I got things faster, that I babbled for hours and hours about random minutiae. Dude has the patience of a saint.”

Derek simply nodded.

“I get that,” he replied quietly. It occurred to Stiles then that Derek had, just like him, been _born_ different. ADHD and being a werewolf weren’t exactly tomato versus tomahto, but—holy shit. How had Stiles been so stupid?

“Yeah, I really think you do,” Stiles said wonderingly, staring over at Derek sitting next to him in the grass with the intimate murmurs of his friends filling the dark spaces behind them. 

Suddenly, for the first time Stiles felt like he really _saw_ Derek. He catalogued with a care he didn’t know he possessed the faint lines between Derek’s heavy brows, the darkened fine skin of his lower eyelids, the deep shadows created by the vulpine angles of his handsome face. Because he was undeniably handsome; it wasn’t even something Stiles had ever thought about before because it was just _true_. 

But now Stiles was; thinking, that is. 

“What,” Stiles began before he’d even really formed a coherent question. Maybe it was better that way; he blundered forward. “What is this?”

He watched Derek swallow heavily, eyes skittering away to observe the darkened tree line.

“And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know what I’m asking,” Stiles added, swallowing nervously himself.

“I don’t know,” Derek said, eyes finally meeting Stiles again. His tone was plaintive and more than a little confused. “I told you that I trusted you a while ago.”

“And that scares you,” Stiles said quietly. 

“Yeah,” Derek rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly.

“It scares me too.”

Derek’s face froze in surprise, “I don’t—“

“It scares me because you’ve been fucked over, man. I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I screw up,” Stiles stared down at his knees, shoulders tensed. “I don’t want to be just another disappointment to you. Another reason for you to hide from everything.”

“Can we just agree that intent matters most here?” Derek asked quietly. “I don’t know what this is, how you’d classify—I just know that I’m tired of carrying all of this alone and I don’t see any way out. Not anymore. Except maybe with you.”

It was Stiles’s turn to gape, “With me?”

Derek’s eyes grew comically wide, “I meant trusting you as a friend. A real friend,” he practically stammered.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, dude,” Stiles tilted his head questioningly. “But do you even know what you're saying? We are friends. Unless you mean...”

“…friends with potential. And I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to tell me what I’m doing wrong,” Derek responded wryly and Stiles laughed, deep and genuine.

“Yeah, okay.”

Derek heaved out a huge sigh and tipped backward onto the turf with a whump, “Good. God, that was exhausting.”

“Step one, Derek,” Stiles chided. “Is endurance training. You have to be accessible at all times. Expect stupid texts at three am just because I can and moments of intense insecurity and probably more manly cuddling than you’ve ever experienced because I’m a very tactile person.”

“I swear to God, if you don’t shut up and lay down so we can bask in this moment together, I’m going to tear your throat out,” Derek grouched.

“…with your teeth?” Stiles snickered. 

He laid down though. Hip to hip; shoulder to shoulder.

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to my regular readers,
> 
> i'm sorry. i won't bore you with details, but this has been a particularly hard four weeks.
> 
> i know this isn't the big battle scene you were most likely hoping for, but this bit between derek and stiles really needed to be clarified first. one more chapter, then the epilogue.


End file.
